


Have a Break

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Advance bodyswap trope, Arguing, Awkward Sexual Situations, BEHOLD THE HOLY KITKAT OF UNRESOLVED SEXUAL TENSION, Bad Flirting, Bodyswap, Consequences, Crack, Crack and Smut, Deception, Drunk Dean, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Except it totally does get resolved, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Feelings, Fish out of Water, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Smut, Have you not met me, Lesbian Sex, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Menstruation, Mild Smut, Oral Sex, Orgy, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Regret, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Upset Dean, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeur Dean, non-con is that some OC's don't know who they're really fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: You and Sam and Dean are so frustrated you’re about ready to smother each other.  Nothing that’s coming will make that situation better, not even a Kit Kat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For @crispychrissy’s Supernatural Spin Drabble Challenge. My prompt was: Candy Bar

“Alright but can we just pack this up? Can we pack this the fuck up and do our work?”

“Don’t talk like you’re the mature one!”

“Will you shut up?! I’d kill you both if offing myself didn’t look so damn attractive right now.”

“You shuttup.  And excuse you?”

“We argue and then you go in there all mature like we’re the ones that started it all.  Like you didn’t say some shit.”

“Well sometimes ‘professional’ looks a lot like ‘mature’.  Fuck off and move.”

“You fuck off!”

It really doesn’t matter who said what.  It’s a day ending in _Why_.

*Dingaling!*

The three of them stalk into the store like wolves hungry for Spring.

Everything looks suspicious.  Fuck it, everything can be suspicious.  You’ve never wanted a hunt to end sooner.  Another goddamn spat between the three of you and this time you’re ready to take a proper break from the bunker and get some breathing space. Even Sam’s struggling to stop fuming, meeting the clerk with a twitchy frown below his grim brow.  The poor girl looks a little amused to see such dark moods amongst the suits.  It’s only a Dollar Store for crap’s sake.

“Hi! How can I help you?” says the clerk.

“Hi! Y-”

“You got a butt-stick removing tool?” Dean mutters.

Sam resettles his stance, pinching his lips together for his brother’s crappy attitude.

“Who you askin’ for?” You’re loud enough for everyone to hear you from behind the shelves.

Sam blinks and burns energy.  “…Evening Miss,” he starts, flashing his fake badge.  “I’m Agent Pine, these are my colleagues Pratt and Evans. We’re hoping we can ask you a few questions?”

The girl glances at you and Dean, and you do something not-grumpy with your faces.  “Uh sure.  What did you want to know?”  She pulls out a Kit-Kat, opens the wrapper and snaps off a finger for herself before offering the bar to Sam.

She smiles up at him like _Make it better?_ while she waits for him to decide.

Sam leans on it for a few moments before scoffing at himself, and he decides that, at least for a while, he’s gonna let the little stuff go.  Cabin fever, exhausted ticks, recycled frustrations.  It’s seasonal.  It’ll pass.  And even if you and Dean drive him batty they’re still-

“OOOooh! Chocolate!” *snap!* Dean nods at the clerk and chomps his grin on the snack.  Sam stares at him.

“You assholes even gonna offer?” You lean long across Dean’s side and snap off a finger, too.  “Jesus.”

So the clerk points the last piece at Sam, sighing happily as he takes it, and he taps it against a knuckle a few times before saying, “Thank you,” with the pissiest upside-down smile she’s ever seen. Perfect.

He makes quick work of it, in two bites.  “We were just wondering if you knew anything about the young woman who used to work here?” Sam asks.

The woman takes the time to finish her piece before speaking. “Oh you mean the sly bitch who had it coming? Yeah, ask me how I did it.”

There’s the sound of you readying your gun, and the clerk merely cocks an eyebrow, so Dean takes aim, too. Sam backs off and pulls out his weapon.

“You did it? You killed her?” Dean asks to confirm.

The clerk pulls down the collar of her top and you all peer at her tattoo, one much like your own.  All of you recognise the markings as witchcraft, and as a life-preserving symbol. Maybe she doesn’t know that you can see its flaws, too. “Sure I did.  You really think those guns are gonna make a difference?”

There’s a lot she doesn’t know.

…

“Well, as much as I have no love for sharing a room with you two for yet another night, I am not driving home until tomorrow.”  Dean dumps the bag on the table and slips off his jacket for the night.  These are the first words anyone has said since you left the burning Dollar Store.

“I could drive,” you offer, fairly indifferently.

Dean swings himself around on the spot and gives you an exceptionally acidic _As If_ scowl.

“You’re frequently a thorough bitch, you know that?”  You stalk off to the bathroom to wash off the fuel and blood.

“What is your damn problem?” Sam asks.  “She can drive your car.”

“No, she can’t.”  Dean’s finger whips sideways.  “She can barely drive it better than you.”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to have you assuming such shit? No wonder she’s fuckin’ over your arrogance.”

Dean leans a shoulder towards his brother, points at his own chest.  “My arrogance?!  Compared to who?!  When was the last time you conceded that I know crap.  I know _crap!_  So does she!”

“I know you know stuff Dean!” Sam’s using the whining I Can’t Believe I Have to Tell You This tone. “I’m just trying to make sure we’re getting it right!”

“Oh! _Oh!_ Okay!” Dean throws his hands up, saying the sounds like he’s gulping air.  “I _see._  You’re making us right!  Because we’re all wrong.”

“Holy shit!” You burst out of the bathroom in your towel, steam billowing behind.  “Couldja shut up!  I’m trying to forget you’re here!”

“Are you using all the hot water again?” Sam peers at you.

“Tell you what.  I’ll use all the hot water, you can have the last word, and Dean can fuck the fuck off!”  You step into the steam and slam the door in your own face.

Dean points at the bathroom, yelling “Not today, sweetheart!”

…

Somehow, everyone kept their head shut from then on.  Nothing new was going to be said.  The hunt was done.  The police scanner didn’t raise any flags that indicated anything.  Everyone went to bed and slept.  

No one mentioned how gassy they felt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you killed the witch. Well done you. But your relentlessly snarky moods meant she got the jump on you, and you’re all about to feel it.

Sometime around dawn, you wake and, for a confusing second, you think it might’ve been from the pong in the room.  You never wake first, but the humidity is rank.  Maybe Sam’s lactose intolerance flared up from the Kit Kat.

Either way, your bladder calls, so you get yourself up in the semi darkness and stumble to the bathroom, pulling down your shorts before plonking onto the toilet seat.  The very low toilet seat.   _Why_ , you groan inside.   _Practically dangerous._  You’ve learned that when you wake during the night, if you don’t open your eyes too much, going back to sleep is a real possibility, so you sit there and wait for relief, fishing around for some paper before standing and wiping.

And wiping…

In a moment of wisdom, you keep your eyes closed and, although you’re frozen right now and crouching over the toilet seat with used paper in your hand, you gauge your _other_ hand, the one holding your knee.  

Your very hairy knee.

Your very hairy, bony, large, knee.

You map out the situation a little before taking a look.  There’s hair brushing your cheeks.  Your feet feel different under your weight.  And if you squeeze your floor muscles…

You open your eyes for two seconds and take in the unwelcome and not very appealing sight of a penis, two hairy balls behind it, and a narrow set of hips.  “Mmm.”   _Right then._

Slowly, as you match up all the facts, you realise you’re looking at a remarkably dry toilet seat, too. You wonder if there’s any more luck where that came from.

Soon, leg muscles begin to ache, so you do your cursory best: drop the paper, pull up the shorts, and turn to the sink to wash your hands.

“Uh, God,” you whisper, not wanting to hear the different voice while looking at the long fingers and muscular forearms. “So hairy.”

The mirror’s there but you don’t look up.  You know, with confidence, you’re in Sam’s body.  Part of you wants to go back to bed and hope for a fix before waking again but you’re up.  You are so fucking up.  

You turn around and look down at tiles beneath the broad feet, the long legs, and you even put a hand against the wall to cope with the height.  Your tummy feels tight, chest broad, back strong, and you take up more _space_ ; you can feel it where the arms lean on the ribs, the size of his feet.   You feel his _health_. 

Suddenly after the frustration of the last week, this is just the cherry on top.  This is what it feels like to have Sam’s body?  

This feels fucking awesome.

You crack the bathroom door a smidge and look at your own body lying on the closest bed, a single.  It’s not as odd as you would’ve imagined.  You look out to the world.  You look feminine.  And there’s Dean, on the double by the window, smeared across the sheets like he owns the damn bed.

You look back down at all the muscles and strength, all this ability, opening and closing a fist a few times to test the feeling of his skin. You decide, for the first time ever, you’re not going to do The Right Thing.  You’re going for a fucking run.

…

“Oooh, oh god.”  Dean’s not well.  He curls over on the bed and grabs at his belly.  It seems to ache everywhere from ribs to knees.  “Jesus.  What did I eat?” he whispers.  

Heavily and clumsily, he gropes his way across the space, into the bathroom, to sit on the toilet and hope for a break.  Being sick while away from home is the worst.  Then he opens his eyes.

“SAAAM! I’M BLEEDING!!”  There’s blood all over Dean’s pants, right in the middle, and smeared at the top of his thighs.   _Oh shit- softshairlessthighs! Ladyhands! No dick!  PANTIES._

“SAAM!” Dean pants, the high wheeze making him wind up even more and the newest news is what comes out of him: “I sound like a _GIRL!”_

“You are a girl! Are you o-”

Sam stands in the doorway and then they glare at each other because Dean is looking at _himself_. “AAAH!”  He curls in so much, knees up and arms fending, he almost slips into the bowl.

Sam slams the door closed again. “I’m sorry! It’s just you said-”

Dean pants at the door, looks down at himself and the blood on his fingers.  He doesn’t even remember touching himself in this strange body.  He’s been gaping so much he’s about to start drooling.

“Uh, Y/N?” says Sam to the door.

Dean swallows, pants, and waits for a reply.

“Y/N?”

“She’s not here, dude!” Then Dean realises, squeaking _Ooop!_ And putting his hand to his mouth.   **He’s** Y/N.

“I’m coming back in.” Sam undoes the bathroom door once more, letting it swing open on it’s sweetly creaking hinge.

Dean looks at himself again.  “Sam? S’at you?”

“Yah.  Dean?  Y/N… must be in my body… Where is she?”  Dean starts a fishy-gaping reply and then Sam properly notices things. “Why is there so much blood?!  Are you okay? I’m mean, is she-? Is her body-?”

“I don’t know! Is this normal? It hurts!” The stained shorts are around his ankles, the messy panties and smeared thighs spread wide as he stands-sits-stands over the seat since all his clothes are wet.  “I don’t know where to start! Don’t look!”

Sam reactively throws a spread hand forward, blocking the view, but he can’t even recall if he actually has properly looked because right this very second he is very distracted. “Dean. You have blood on your face.”

Dean realises what Sam means and glares at the floor.  He closes his eyes real hard.  The toilet paper has to be good enough. He winds some off the roll and growls, “Find me something.”

“What do you mean?”

“In her stuff!  Find me some sort of- product! For this!”  

Sam disappears and Dean starts furiously wiping away at the blood, great handfuls of toilet paper gathering up the red like loofah sponges.  He flushes the toilet for a first go at it all and wipes some more.  “Ugh! God! It just keeps coming!  AH!” Dean sucks his teeth at the pain and shuffles off the panties in frustration.  “Son of a bitch! _Help_ me!”

“This is all I could find.”

Dean looks at his own outstretched hand and huffs furiously at the offering. “Look. Harder.”

“I swear Dean.  That’s all there is.  She must be low on supplies. I’m sorry.”

Several times, Dean rolls his jaw forward.  He is very close to making a poor-woman’s pad from more toilet paper but this single ply crap just won’t last.  Not with this flow.  He feels another glob of viscous blood slip from the tender, aching nether regions and closes his eyes again.   _Fuck this_ , he thinks.   _I can rebuild my own car.  I’ve been to hell. I can use a fucking tampon._

Dean snatches the tampon and Sam steps backwards, out of the way of the slamming door… “Do you want me to go?” he checks.

“Yes,” Dean snaps.  “…No.”

So Sam stands by, listening to the Y/N-ish grunts of Dean inserting a tampon as best he can into a body he doesn’t know.  “…The uh.  Apparently, when you can’t feel it anymore, it’s good.”

Dean stands tall and takes the deepest, most forgiving breath he can manage while he glowers at the door and it’s so very helpful information.  There’s a piece of string hanging between his legs.  Dean wiggles his knees back and forth, and since he can’t feel anything, he squats a little and hazards a tug on the string.  It’s pretty resistant.  The feeling reminds him of a gag reflex, or needing to take a shit.  “Fuckin’ disgusting,” he mutters, then says to Sam, without separating his teeth, “Imma need some more panties.”

“Just take a shower!”  

Somehow Sam’s tone in Dean’s own voice is more annoying than anything he’s ever heard.  “No I will not take a fucking shower! Give me some goddamn panties!”  Seconds later, a pair of panties are popped in the door and Dean only checks to make sure they’re right side out before pulling them on.  He stalks out of the bathroom, shoving his brother aside (with some difficulty, he notes) and digs through Y/N’s bag for some proper pants.  “Uh, fuck.”  Even walking is weird.  “She’s so wide!”

“You really need to take a shower,” Sam tells him.  “You didn’t get all the blood.”

“I’m cleaner than I was last night.  Also, where the fuck is Y/N? Huh?”

Sam lifts his shoulders as high as they go, also without a clue.  “I dunno man!  There isn’t even a note!”

“Just- Could you stop doing things with my face?  You suck at it.”

Sam sags and scowls, his patience for the day almost spent already.  “You make her walk like a gorilla.”

_“Everything is swollen.”_

*BAM!BAM!*  “Police! Open up please!”

Dean and Sam both glare at each other and start looking around like chickens. Pants! No, _her_ pants! Proper bra? Not now. Socks? Every idea has to be double-guessed.

“Uh- One-! Ur! One minute officer!” Dean calls, and whispers to Sam “Put some pants on!”

“I am!” he hushes back, and sits on the bed to pull on a pair of his own track pants.  They’re a bit long for Dean’s body.

Dean gets on the Fed trousers from yesterday, leaving the sleep shirt and shelf bra, and they both shuffle over to the door, scuffling to decide who should answer. “I’m you! Remember?!” Sam whispers. 

“So?!” squeaks Dean.  

Sam moves him out of the way with satisfying ease.

The morning light dawns upon them.  “Morning Officer,” smiles Sam.  “What can we do for you?”

The two officers visibly pause.  Then the shorter of them, the woman, says “My name is Officer Wilson, this is Officer Mathers. Ma’am, are you aware you have blood on your face?”

Dean glares, realising she means him.  He must’ve smeared it instead of cleaned it.  “Oh God! Do I?!  That’s so gross!” he laughs, his breath cutting off and trying again at the peculiar sound of Y/N’s laughter being so forced.

Sam flares his green eyes at the sight and Wilson doesn’t miss his surprise.  “Sir, we were called to a domestic dispute.  Have you been arguing about something?”

“What?! No! No-no,” Sam tones it down real quick, tucking nothing behind his ears. “No sir.  Just uh.  Well, yeah.”  Maybe a weird excuse will be worse, he thinks. “Just a rough patch.  Between us.  Cabin fever.”  He nods solemnly.

Dean tries for the truth too.  “And I just.  I got my period and you know- you know how sometimes you scratch yourself in your sleep? And then-” He gestures rubbing at his face, showing how the blood might’ve been smeared around.  “Very gross, but uh.  Yeah, that’s- That’s what happened.”  He puts his hands on his hips and nods, licking his lips and shrugging his chin.  He looks very much like a woman pretending to be a man and when he realises everyone is looking, he thinks to pull one knee to the other and try leaning on one hip, with a smile.  It’s not better.

“Not quite sure what you’re tryna sell me there, ma’am,” says Mathers.  “Mind if we come in?”

A tight swallow, a quick glance and, besides the bloodied panties, which may serve to help, there’s nothing else to see.  They step back to allow the police officers entrance.

“You know,” says Mathers, “we’re not callin’ it domestic violence so much these days.”  He turns to Sam, having a better look at Dean’s muscular form, the scuffed knuckles from the hard work last night.  “We just call it violence, since that’s what it is.”

Sam looks at him, well aware that Mathers has some solid suspicions, and he wouldn’t blame him either.  “I think you’re right to do so, Sir.”

“I’m just gonna-” Dean points around his face again and ducks into the bathroom to scrub at his fingers and cheek again.  He loses a few moments staring in the mirror at Y/N’s features.  This is what worried looks like on her. It seems so much more acute than on him, less silly, more thoughtful.  He sucks a short breath into his nose, thanks to a pang of cramps, and suddenly everything seems rather crap.  No one’s talking to each other properly, he’s in charge of Y/N’s body right now and he’s sure he’s getting it wrong, and Y/N’s just gone.  Dean starts to worry properly now.   _Where is she?  Is she Sam?  Has someone done this to occupy them while they take her?_  Dean holds the basin and starts to feel shaky and, although he suspects it’s hormones let loose, he’s finding it hard to refocus.

“Ma’am?” Officer Wilson is at the bathroom door.  “Can I help at all ma’am?”

“No,” Dean sniffs, to his surprise.  “Just a long week.”

“Well, people are entitled to argue,” says Officer Mathers.  Seems he’s almost seen enough to be satisfied.  “But I’m gonna check right now.  You don’t hit her, do you.”  Mathers points at Dean standing there in Y/N’s body, and stares at Sam until he makes Dean’s mouth talk.  

“No sir.  We don’t hit each other.”

Mathers looks at Wilson because that, well, that’s not usually the answer one gets.  Who do they hit?

Dean picked up on it too, so he creates a distraction, picking up his bag to get going.  Except that his gun slides out the open zip. The gun that has no permit.

Sam and Dean manage to convince the police officers to at least leave a card before taking them to the station.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re in Sam’s body, and loving the size and speed. What you don’t know is that Dean is in your body and Sam is in Dean’s and the sanitary products have hit the fan.

Today is a wonderful day.  

“You need a hand there, Miss?” This is the fourth old lady you’ve offered your arm.  And damned if they don’t float across the road when you do.  

“O-hoho you! Why _thank_ you! Oh, aren’t you a lovely young man!”  She takes a firm hold of your forearm and you bulge a few of Sam’s muscles to give her something to grip.

“Oh, it’s tough work but someone’s gotta do it.” You grin, dimples and all you bet, and they don’t care one scrap that you’re all sweaty because these old ladies know that men, well, they sweat.  Even when they’re being chivalrous.

“Thank you so much. You’ve been such a help.” She stands and clutches her bag, already proud of the dashing lad who’s such a great ambassador for our species.

“Truly is a pleasure ma’am.” You squeeze her shoulder with an earnest smile, then let it go cheeky with a wink. “You take care, okay?”

“ _Woo_ hoohoohoo- okay!”

You’ve run twice as far as you usually do, in much better time.  Sam’s body is a fucking machine.  You’re tall, and able, and you notice women watching you run by.  You notice guys checking out your form.  It’s extremely satisfying.

By the time you get back, you’re only mildly concerned about Sam being in your body. You figure it’s got an expiry time on it anyway.  Dean can help and Sam will cope - he’s a big boy.

Yes indeed.

But no one’s there.  The card on the table is for the local police, and as you fiddle with its edge, thinking of how to approach this problem - or what the problem actually _is,_ even - you notice the mess that’s been left and start to scowl. Your bag is nearly turned inside out, sanitary products all over the place, and then you spy your panties poking out from the bathroom sink.  That’s when it makes a little more sense - they’re covered in blood.  So is your bed sheet.  Poor Sam.

Oh well.

You take a shower.

And, you have a wank, losing a bit of time exploring that.  You didn’t plan on it but there were sweaty bits that needed soap and holy hell there’s not much else to look at once you’re starkers: the man’s kit is flipping inspiring.  Just seeing it gave you ideas, which made it chub up as if to present itself for duty - nodding _yes, yes, go on,_ \- and then you’re caught in a fast accelerating self-fed loop of porn.

In seconds you’re watching Sam’s hand on Sam’s dick doing exactly what feels good. You wonder if it’s you that thinks it feels good, or if it’s this body. Maybe this is true muscle memory.

Normally, while in the shower, you’d think of Dean, but that bends your brain a little too hard right now.  Instead, you think of how you’d show these skills to Sam once you’re back in your own bodies, how surprised he’d be, grabbing what’s near, unable to finish his words. 

And then you do think of Dean and how impressed or ‘pleasantly shocked’ he’d be at seeing what you could do to your body with this one. It feels like fucking them both.

…

The police station is modern, and you find it amazingly easy to be a fake FBI Agent Plant as Sam, and not yourself.  You flash the badge and saunter through, respectful and serious.

Dean and Sam are in cells side by side, a brick wall separating them.

You see yourself laying on the bench at the back, arm flung over your face, and Dean’s slack forearms and hands poke out from between the bars of his cell.  You stand at the adjoining wall and talk to them both.

“Struggling with an officer?” you ask him.

“The gun fell out of his bag,” Dean shrugs, “and I made the mistake of lunging for it.”

“Huh.”

“Get us out of hereeeee!” Thank goodness both cells are otherwise vacant.

“Shut up Sam! They think I’m transferring you to FBI offices for crimes in other states!”

“I’m not Sam!”

You watch yourself pop up, then groan and grab your belly, which is only slightly more disconcerting than before.  You look strange from different angles. “Wait, you’re Dean?” you whisper.  “So you’re Sam?” You point at Dean’s body, which nods back.

“You have my period cramps?!”

Dean gets up, struggling to straighten himself against the pulling ache of your uterus.  “The whole body swap thing must’ve triggered it because it’s so much worse than normal.  I can’t even walk, Y/N!”

“Pfffffahahahahaha!” You lean into it, watching him scowl at you, his bitch face even more amusing via you, and soon you’re wheezing into your fist.  It’s just too good.  “Okay, okay, I’ll give you it’s early, but that’s normal.  It’s all normal.”

“This isn’t _normal!_ ” Dean flaps his arms around his general self, incredulous.  “There is _no way_ this is normal.”

“Wait, did you use a tampon?”

“There was nothing else!”

“Yeah, sorry, I was gonna shop today. Tampons tend to make it worse.  But you’re still well within normal, Booboo.  Let’s go. We’ll get you some pain killers.”

You unlock the cells, Dean’s second, and help him get himself going.  “I have nausea.   _Not_ normal.  And don’t call me Booboo.  I don’t know why my pain is so funny to you.”

“It’s not, I swear.” You lie.  

“Where the hell were you anyway?” Sam asks.

“I went for a jog.”

Sam stops, jerking his arm out of your grasp so he can glare at you properly. “Oh so you just take my body out for a spin huh?!”

Well, what’s done is done, and it didn’t include any harm. You shrug. “I cleaned it after. Come on, Shorty,” you take his arm back. “You got worse things to huff about.”

The both of them let you lead them along, cuffed and all, and you sign the handover documents.

At the car, you guide them both into the backseat before getting behind the wheel.  “You gonna uncuff us here?” Dean snaps.

“No, we’re too close to the entrance.” You’re not.  “I’ll uncuff you when we’re back in the room.”

You pull out of the spot and chuck an elbow over the seat.  “Hey Dean, check it out.  Everyone else is driving your car.”

Two bitch faces in one.  Boom.

…

“Alright. I’m going out to get another Kit Kat.” Dean finds his wallet, trying to figure out which of your trouser pockets to put it in.  Then starts to pull on his jacket and- “Uh!  Oh _fuck!”_ He grabs his lower back, digging in a thumb while holding onto the back of a chair.  The jacket’s forgotten.

You sigh. “Okay, so don’t take this personally-”

“What?” he snaps.

“I’m going to put my hands on you, okay?”

From where you are, you can see a decidedly Dean-like frown on your face, but he’s waiting to see what you’ll do.  So you step close enough and put your big broad Sam-hands low on his back, right over the flat bone where you know it aches.

“….ooooohsonofabitch.”  Dean leans on the chair properly, shoulders hunched.  “That’s the shit.”

“Generally, I can exercise it out, but sometimes it’s just really bad, and the heat helps.”  You rub a bit, hold the hips firmly, realising that you don’t look that bad from behind.  Quite normal really.

“This is the most peculiar thing.”  Sam’s sitting on a bed, in Dean’s body, staring at himself rubbing your back.

“Take a picture Sammy,” says Dean in your grouchy voice. “It’ll last about 6 seconds when I remind you that _I’m your bro-therr._ ”

“Oh shut up! I didn’t mean like that!”

“Go take a hot shower,” you tell Dean.  “Aspirin too.  Tylenol won’t do shit.”

“Can’t I take a bath?” he whines.

You let go and head for your bag, grinning at his thoughtless idea.  “Sure, you can take a bath.  You won’t get clean but.”

“Uughfuck.  So fuckin’ gross.”  He looks at the clothes you hand out for him and blinks a little, grinding his jaw and bracing himself for the task ahead.  You’ve even inserted a pad onto a pair of panties, all ready to go.

“Just focus on my stretch marks.  And the blood.”

 _“Thank you,”_ he grizzles, and swipes the gear into his arms before stomping into the bathroom.  He has no intention of slowing down until he’s done.

“I’ll go get the Kit Kat,” you tell Sam.  “You going okay?”

Sam’s a little surprised at your question and looks down at Dean’s body, shrugging a bit.  “Yeah!  Feels kinda the same.  A bit, uh, stockier. Why are you so comfortable, by the way?”

“Holy crap Sam,” you laugh.  “Did you bump Dean’s head or something? Why do you think?”  

“But Dean’s about to wash your body.  That doesn’t freak you out a bit?”

“I dunno, I just-” You squint at the bathroom door, thinking about why you’re not fazed.  “It’s my body but with him in it. I just don’t think he’s gonna move, or think, or look at it that way.”

You close the door behind you and head out, thoroughly enjoying how much the brisk air doesn’t make that much difference to you.

…

You’re wrong.  First there’s the unparalleled grossness of removing the tampon with his eyes closed.  The internal tug of it make Dean _Hhhr!-rrr-_ into his fist, but if he thinks of rugarus it’s not so bad.

He does undress with lightning speed, and he does get into the shower before it’s even a comfortable temperature, but once he’s rinsed your hair, he knows… he has to soap everything.

He uses the washcloth so that he doesn’t have to feel your slippery skin, but then it tweaks the nipples, and he looks down.  The blood’s all run away for the moment and, well, you glisten.  He looks over his shoulder.  Whenever he’s showered with a woman, that’s the view he so often gets in these tight confines.  Shoulder, waist, hip, calf.  Down, in, out, in, out and down his hand would coast. He’d think of empty mountain roads of flawless bitumen, and he’d watch the water run.  But it’s hard from here to see that.  This time it’s not the curves, it’s the valleys, soft and symmetrical, and everything seems to point to the centre

Somewhere his helpful mind holds up a little trivia - orgasms can help with period cramps.  Ever the problem solver, Dean ventures. _I deserve this,_ he nods to himself.  He leans one hand on the tiles, the other brushing over the mound and he reaches in, curious and cautious.

It’s so different.  The fingers are thinner, so everything feels a bit bigger, and he can’t reach like he’d like to so, instead, he explores.

The feedback isn’t as specific as he expected; tripping one switch sparks something elsewhere.  It’s like untangling fairy lights.  Very quickly, he can feel the core of your body wanting something because he’s stirring up the clit, the whole area, and although he’s panting against the tiles, he’s not tipping over like he hoped from this amount of attention.

But then he’s not really using what he knows, so he does what he usually does with other women and listens to how it feels and, this time, he ends up on his knees, water dribbling from his nose and bangs drawn around his face in a watery curtain, huffing in the humidity as his fingers rub furiously, hips pushing and scooping, thighs trembling.  Dean gasps and grunts, surprised at how it really is like what he sees, and it’s the same kind of wonderful, and the same kind of _almost_ like this, but he manages to come in pants and curses as the tile grid digs into his knees.

Your pussy still wants something more, messy though that would be, but at least everything’s loosened up a bit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides he’s taking your body on an excursion, and you go along to supervise. Not everything goes how you’d hope.

Hours later, take out boxes emptied, Sam’s almost dried Dean’s eyes with his research, and Dean’s flopped your body all over the bed umpteen times since the drugs wore off.

“I wanna go out,” he mumbles into the comforter.  “I need a real drink.” He needs a good fuck, but he can’t quiet reconcile the feeling enough to even admit it to himself.  He’s inside a woman’s body and it’s horny, but he’s calling it just  _hormonal_.

“Is there a car part you can clean with my thinner fingers, or something?”

“Probably,” sighs Dean, “but it’s buried under two hours of dismantling. I think I need another shower.” He rolls over again and throws an arm over his eyes.

“I have nothing.”  Sam closes the laptop, exasperated and tired, and grabs his beer.  “Nothing.  We could share a Kit Kat again but I have no idea if it’ll make a difference.”

“We eat it in reverse!” Dean cries at the ceiling.  He’s said this before.  A lot.

“The witch isn’t here to eat the first piece!” you growl, again.

“Well, we can’t do nothing!” Dean gets up, practically shuddering on the spot with unspent frustration and pain.  The rest of him is okay, it’s just the stupid female reproductive system that’s makes his whole fanny feel like falling out.  He’s well motivated to work on a fix.  “What if this doesn’t last just a day? What if-”

“It’s already been more than a day, by the clock,” mutters Sam.

“It didn’t  _start_  when we ate the Kit Kat.  Holy fuck, am I really the smartest one here?!”  He leans into snapping at Sam, flapping his hand back and forth.  “It started overnight. So it ends overnight.  Or! It doesn’t!  So, technically, who knows when it’ll expire!”

“Hopefully in 5 to 7 days.” You kick back and put your feet up again.  This is going nowhere.

Dean whirls around on you.  “Could you care?! For a minute at least?!  We  _have_  to intervene.”

“How do you know we won’t make it worse?”

_“How could this get worse?!”_

You raise your eyebrows and tip the bottle into a thoughtful pout.  It could always get worse.

Dean huffs something so fierce you could light it. “I’m going out.”

“Take a spare pad.”

“Fuck you,” Dean walks over to dig around your bag, finding a spare napkin and tucking it into his back pocket.  He gets some money into his other pockets while he complains.  “And fuck you for being so okay with this.  As if it isn’t fuckin’ weird for you too.”

“You know what it isn’t?” You stand up, feeling tall, practically unaffected by the beer you’ve had so far.  “Painful.  It isn’t gross.  It’s not short, or slow, or weak.  It’s a frikken upgrade as far as I’m concerned.  Sorry Sam, I’m sure I’ll want my body back soon, but this one?  It’s  _awesome_.  And I’m going to change my shirt and come with you.”

“Like hell-”

“No no- you’re going to get the full experience, Dean. ‘Cause if you think this sucks wait till you meet  _The Men_.”

“Oh well in that case-” Dean strides past, opening the door. “I’ll do the platinum tour. I am  _flouncing_  out of the room with the last word and a slam.  Alright?  Okay?  Screw you both!”  *SLAM!*

For a few seconds, you do miss your own body.  There’s something somewhere you feel ashamed about and being away from home, so to speak, does make it a little queasy…  “I don’t normally act like that, do I?”

“No!” Sam’s still sitting on the bed.  “No, I never even know when it’s happening, or whatever.”  You head over to Sam’s duffel and he watches you pick out a shirt. He’d kinda hoped you’d be the balancing factor with Dean’s current problems, and he’s a bit frustrated that you haven’t been more compassionate, but he tries to bite his tongue since all this acidity has only made things worse.  “It’s certainly been a shit week.”

“Sure has.”  You pull on the shirt - navy blue over grey - not what Sam woulda picked.  You go into the bathroom and Sam watches you duck down for the mirror and fix the hair.  “What’re you doing?”

“I dunno.  Getting ready?”  You slap on a little aftershave.

“Are you planning on picking up?!”

“No!” you scoff.  You don’t think so anyway.  “You’re a sweaty guy, Sam.” You remember to pack Sam’s wallet in your pocket before pulling on some shoes and heading for the door.  “Not that you smell bad, just, you know.  We’re livin’ in a society here.”

With your hand on the door handle, you think to ask.  “You wanna come out too? Could be fun?”

“No.” Then he thinks a bit, his gaze ending up on the laptop and it’s bottomless pile of Nothing Useful.  “Just feels a bit… unethical.”  He looks down at Dean’s body again, mumbling, “It’s not a ride.”

You sigh, and it feels terribly Sam-like.  “Well, in the name of disclosure, I might’ve had a  _bit_  of a tug in the shower this morning.”

Okay, the brothers officially melded in that face, and it is one of pleading horror.

“I’m sorry?” You wince and shrug.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!”

“What?! I didn’t hurt you!  It was nice! It practically  _asked_  me to!”  His face hasn’t changed, and you’re standing there, letting the cool air in, while you think of what to say.  It’s not like you can take it back. “…You ever do that twisty thing at the top?”

He gapes, chin and head dropping.

“Hold the base an’…?  Around the…?”  Nope, he’s not onboard at all.  “Aaaah you’re no fun.  See you later Sam-in-Dean!”

…

“Buy you a drink Lil’ Lady?”

You slide up alongside Dean.  He’s parked your body on a stool, hunched and scowling, elbows wide, and he’s rotating a coaster, edge by edge.  “Yes.  Because I brought the wrong damn wallet.”

“Ha!  Two whiskeys please!” The bartender nods back and you take a look at the room.  It’s crowded, clusters of people standing around.  There are folks catching a peek your way but you can’t really tell which of you they’re looking at.  “You should ask me if you want to meet someone tonight.  That sort of thing ain’t on the lease agreement.”

“Fuck no, I don’t want  _that_. Hasn’t kept me from meeting two already.”  Dean smiles at you, all teeth, no eyes.  “Men suck.”

“No, they don’t. You just attract the shit ones.”  The drink arrives and Dean downs it, taps the rim for another, and you nod at the bartender. “She’s got her period.”

Dean scowls even harder, fires it at you, and for a moment you can see why he recoils when you let the snark loose.  He sips the second drink, so you figure he’s calmed down some and you let the quiet seconds roll by.

“This week has sucked balls,” mumbles Dean, “ovaries too.” He takes a decent gulp.

“Sure has.”

“I can’t remember the last time we argued so much.” He goes back to rolling the coaster along the bar matt, a slow jolting cardboard wheel.  “I keep thinking of how we coulda gone in there- if we’d just been less snappy at each other, she wouldna even thought of playing us.”

“Yeah, no, we definitely asked for it.” It’s crossed your mind, too, possibly because it was you and Dean who made it so obvious at the time.  Sam was holding up just fine.  “Hopefully it’ll be lesson enou-”

“‘Scuse me? Miss?”

You turn your head, seeing a guy who’s arrived on the other side of Dean.  He seems normal, nice.

Dean, however, is already not interested.  You’ve never seen your face so stinky.

“Ah, I’m taking a guess but you two don’t look together tonight-”

“Take a hike, Bud.  Not interested.”

Well, that was rude.  Seems Bud agrees.  “Okay.  A simple no thanks would suffice.”

Dean deflates and flops his hands open at himself for being so shitty before turning to talk.  “I’m sorry man, I just, it’s been a long day.”  He plonks his elbow on the bar, cheek on his knuckles and swings a knee wide.  “Any other day dude, I’d grab a beer, but you know how yesterday was Tuesday?  Well that makes today Crapday.  I’m sorry.”

The guy kinda freezes, frowns hard and glances up and down Dean’s blokeish body language.  He glances at you and your shrug you chin, nod a little.   _Yup, shit be high._

“Okay well… I hope you get a regular Thursday tomorrow.”  He slides off the stool.

“Thanks dude.”  Dean slaps him on the shoulder as he goes.

You drag your fingers over an eyebrow and tap the glass for another whiskey.  “Hey, quick tip? Try remembering you’re in a woman’s body?”

“That sounds nice,” says a new voice.

Holy what?  You glare at the new woman beside you.  Dean leans forward, full of interest, even sits up some so he can fit your boobs over the bar and see her properly.  “Oh this is what I came for.”

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” she smiles.  “Um, we haven’t seen you here before.” She says it like a question, and tilts her head at the booth behind her.  There are two other women, twinkling their fingers hello.

You hear your own voice beside you, whispering “Oh you are fuckin’ kidding me?” and, honestly, it could’ve been in your own head.

“Uh no.  No, we’re new.”  It’s a peculiar thing.  Maybe, if Sam were here in his own self, he’d have wondered about what he was looking at, but your objectivity leaves you confident and calm.  And you are quite ready to let her talk her way into this situation just fine, since nothing’s going to come of it.

You lean your elbow on the bar and rub a thumbnail along your lips as you look at her and her friends.  “And temporary.  We’ll probably be gone in a few days.”

“Oh, that’s a pity,” she sighs, and slides her fingers over your forearm like she might just slip it into her handbag. Dean’s looking on, eyebrows high, whiskey long gone.  “I can see you’re here with a friend but, well, maybe she won’t mind you coming to talk to us?”

You drag your nails up your neck a few times, listen to the stubble scratch, and pretend you don’t notice her looking at the way Sam’s long fingers go with the strength of his neck.  A well timed swallow doesn’t go astray either, her eyelashes going up and down in time with the Adam’s apple.  Maybe if you lick your lips while you pretend to think-

Dean is staring at you, gawping at you even considering teasing at such shenanigans.  He can’t remember even seeing Sam think about sex, let alone with more than one woman,  _let alone this_.  It’s  _scandalous_.  He can’t tell if he’s astonished or enthralled.

“Sorry, did you wanna-?” You thumb a little their way, asking Dean if he wants to join in, and you watch your face morph into “Dean pre-combustion”.  It’s worth every Kit Kat on earth.  

He twitches, tries to think.  “No- uh.  What.  What about Dean?”  He leans at you _.  You know, the other guy?_

“No, you’re right.”  You turn back to the woman and place your hand over hers on your arm, looking her right in the eye while you turn her down.  “I’m sorry, Miss.  We actually have someone else to remember tonight.  He’s stuck at home, feeling down.  Thank you for the offer though.”  You chuck in a quick wink for good measure.

Slowly, as if to drag herself from the magnetic haze of Sam’s body focusing on her, she inflates and then sighs.  “Okay then uh-”

“Sam.”

“Sam.”  The way she says it adds a syllable.  “Well, that’s a damn shame.  Maybe another day.”  She smiles at Dean, something sweet and friendly, and strolls back to her friends as though the whole room is underwater.

“I can’t believe you almost got us roped into a five-some,” Dean mutters, knocking back another drink, which you hadn’t seen him get.   “Of all the fucking luck.  Thank God Sam wasn’t here for that.  Although… How many does it take to tip over from a something-some to an orgy, you think? I mean I don’t wanna see my brother get any, but there’s a lot I didn’t wanna see today and I would definitely, definitely ask for a free pass on what this ass might be able to do, given the opportunity to, you know-”

“I think you might’ve had enough.”

“What?! No. This is- like- four, maybe.”

“In less than an hour, on toppa beer, in my body.”  You put his glass down beside the sink, below the service bar.  Dean’s both incensed and strangely comforted by you bossing him around, but still frowns at you moving things away.

“I’m telling you, it’s enough.  Ride it out.”  You grab your jacket from behind him.

“Oh, I love it when you take charge.”

“Careful,” you smirk at him, look him up and down.  “I happen to know you do.”

Dean glares at you, his mind reeling on what that actually implies.  It means he’s out of sorts for the next guy’s shoulder-tap and Dean peaks a bit early. “Oh I  _have my period_ , okay?!  Everything hurts! I’m just out! With a friend! Havin’ a drink!  Okay?”  But the tap didn’t come from another guy: it’s a woman, holding up Dean’s wallet.  She’s quite attractive.  “Woahshit.  Hi.  Sorry.”

“You dropped this.” She slaps the wallet on the bar.  “And it’s okay.  Me too.  I feel ya.”  She winks, and goes back to her friends.

“Okay, leaving now.”  You get up, holding up the jacket for him, waiting for Dean to figure himself out.

“She was lovely,” he slurs. He’s a little wobbly.  “I was so rude, and she was just lovely.” You guide him out, smiling at how useless he is already. “Are all the women lovely to each other about this? I hope so.”

You don’t want to look like you’re manhandling him, so wrap your arm over his shoulder to walk him along.

“It’s okay! We’re together!” He talks to the people you pass, to everyone and anyone.  “He’s a friend.  Nothing untoward.  Very respectful.  I’m just drunk.  From alcohol.”  

Back in the room, Sam is still awake, having stood up when he heard you coming.  A Kit Kat waits on the table and it’s been carefully carved into three even pieces, the breaks made across the fingers of the bar.  You and Dean stop inside the door and stare at it.

“So that’s your plan?”

Sam shrugs, hands on hips. “Agreeing what to do with the fourth finger was our biggest hurdle.”

A peep squeaks out of Dean and he slaps his hand over his mouth.

With a deep sigh, you check one more time.  “Okay so, do you have some words to say? You wanna do it in the reverse? The original sequence was Dean, me, you.”

Dean disagrees.  “No, same order!”

“You have no fuckin’ idea.”

Sam’s over it, willing to take any suggestion.  “Well, I’m sick of being this short-”

“Hey!”

“- and it either does something, or nothing, so-”

“Dude, the way you’ve cut that, if it does do something we are all flavours fucked,” Dean smirks.  “And do you mean body or soul?  Is it me?” He points at himself in your body, then at Sam in his body. “Or me?”

“ _You_  are in her body, so  _you_ ,” Sam points emphatically, “take a piece. And I’m not saying any words because I’m not sure any of them will work.  She didn’t, so.”

“Okey dokey.”  Dean obliges, chomping off a quarter of his carefully carved Kit Kat, and you follow suit.  Sam even pauses, like he did yesterday, but this time he’s hoping that Dean’s hunch on the order is right.

Everyone crunches and watches one another.

“Feel any different?” you ask them.

“I feel drunk!” Dean smiles at you, then Sam.  “I really am a handsome devil.”  Then he turns to you.  “And you’re pretty.”

“Wait, who’s pretty?”

But Dean’s already headed for the bathroom.  “You are! Your face! Everything!”

The door slams and you say to Sam “Apparently, we’re pretty.”  Sam shrugs too and sighs himself all the way back to the bed.

…

The next morning, you wake in a different bed, but before you can even look down to see what’s different, the sound of struggles and grunts gets your attention.

There, on the king single, is your body straddling Sam’s.  And your hands are around his neck.  “You! Stupid! Fucker!”

You lift the covers and check - this is Dean’s body.  Hot fuck.  That means-

“I’m! Sorry!” That’s Dean, you figure, struggling to get a word out his Sam-shaped head.

Sam, in your body, sways heavily - “Oh-  _ohrrr_ -fuck!” - and with a breathy groan he leans his head on his brother’s chest.  He doesn’t let go of his throat, just yells into the t-shirt:   _“You made me hungover!”_ Momentarily, the wooziness passes, and he’s up and wailing on Dean again.  “On toppa cramps! Asshole!”

Then Sam scrambles off, dragging himself to the toilet just in time to empty his guts.  You look at Dean laying there, getting his breath back.  He pats himself down, feeling the chest and belly, and then his head, and finds the length of hair with a grimace.  Then he gets up on his elbows and looks at you in his body over there.

“You know, when I put you and choking in the same sentence, that’s not how it looks,” he croaks, half a wry grin looking decidedly out of place on Sam.

“Really?  Looked about right to me.”  You get up, taking a minute to find your balance in Dean’s bulkier form, and thud your way to the bathroom.  “You want me to hold back your hair?”

“Fuck off!”

“Leave him,” Dean drops back onto the pillow and waves at the door.  “He’s got his period.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kit Kat worked, just not the way you wanted. Now Sam’s dealing with all the crap your body has going, and you’re avoiding mirrors all you can.

It’s a quiet hour or so before anyone ventures a word.  You’ve noticed Sam keeps looking up at the ceiling, though you can’t see anything there worth noting.  Dean keeps looking at Sam’s hands at the ends of his arms, opening and closing them in deep thought.

“You not going to go for a run today?” Sam asks dryly.

You huff, not intending to answer, but it does cross your mind that you could do a tonne of exercise just so Dean can feel the ache for a few days.  “I think I’m expecting this to pass overnight.”

“I think we should do the Kit Kat thing again, just in case.”  Dean looks up from his anatomical studies.  “Right?”

“Can’t hurt,” you shrug and look at Sam.  He nods and looks back up at the ceiling like he might hear some far off music.  “What is with you? What’s up there?”

“Nothing,” he blinks innocently.

“Are you okay?” He hasn’t complained at all about being in your body, and looking after the menstrual situation has been, so far, gripe-free. “Have the cramps gone?”

“No.  It’s just-” He clears his throat and shifts a bit, wincing.  “Uh, yeah, it hurts.  Hurts a fair bit-”

“You still hungover?”

“Oh I’m still pretty average from that but really, it’s mostly,” he clears his throat again.  “It’s the uh, boobs.”

“Are they sore? I should’ve said to give ’em a massage under the heat of the shower.  No playing though.   They’ll just get-”

“No! They’re just… there.”  Sam glances over at Dean, who shrugs  _Fair enough_  at Sam, and nods at you.

You’re unimpressed.  “Sorry.  ‘ _There_ ’?”

“Well, they're right there, Y/N.  Plus everything else. It’s a whole- A whole woman’s body!” Sam starts to get upset, gesturing around himself – your body –  and Dean starts nodding along as he talks.  “And I can  _feel_  everything.  It’s all- in the way!” He nudges his elbows into the boobs, your cleavage helpfully demonstrating the distraction.  “And achy!” He wiggles the bum.  “And every time I look down I can see what I shouldn’t look at!”

“Tell you what.”  You lean your elbow on the table and rub your fingers across your forehead.  “I’ll give you a free pass.  Do whatever -  _alone_ , mind you - but whatever you think will help you feel better, do that.”

“No!” Sam’s incensed.

“No, seriously man, it helps.”  Dean nods solemnly, getting feet on the floor and elbows on his knees.

You glare at him, swallowing down the truth he’s implied and bite your lips together as you retrospectively extend the free pass to him, too.

“He’s right.  It can help.  Go.” You wave your hand at the bathroom, all hope lost, your face in your hand.  “Have another shower.”

Sam thinks for a moment, apparently unable to imagine what you might mean.  He does need a wash, now that the alcohol has been sweated out.  You lean across to your bag and pull out yet another day’s ensemble and throw it at the bed.

Sam gathers it up, nodding thanks, and walks into the bathroom as though it’s a completely new and unseen room.

“I can’t stay for this.”  It’s one thing to become intimately aware of Sam and Dean’s junk; it’s a whole other thing to know they’re getting a load of yours too.  You get up, pack your pockets and pull on a jacket.  “I’m getting some food.”

“You doin’ okay?” Dean asks.

You can’t really look at him for this answer.  “Not as well as you, it seems.”

“Oh well, this-” He looks down at Sam’s body, arms wide.  “I mean the hippee hair’s just stupid, but it’s not that unusual.  S’like a home away from home. A shack away from home.  And he’s not that much taller.”

With a hand on the doorknob, you’re waiting to be sure the conversation is over.

But Dean is waiting for you to reply and you have to be careful here because, although you’re looking at Sam, you’re still talking to Dean.  “I dunno.  It’s just different today,” you tell him.  “It’s still easier than, you know, that.”

“Yeah?”

“…I’m a bit frustrated that I’m not really this strong.”

He knows what you mean.  He remembers.  “I think you’re stronger than you realise. I mean, I have no idea how you go through all that and not make a sound.  I never have any idea it’s happening.”  He’s waving his hands back and forth in front of himself, glaring at the bed and the memory of yesterday’s ache.  

The shower starts up.  You start edging out the door, but you pause to ask,  “Why do you think we’re so ready to kill each other sometimes?”

Dean stares at you a moment, soon realizing that you don’t yet know how to do a poker face on him.  “…Just tension.  I guess.”

Dean does a pretty crap poker face on Sam, too.

A smooth moan comes from the bathroom, something relieved yet needy.

“Speaking of,” you say, and nod a smile at Dean before heading out.

And poor Dean, he’s stuck staring at the bathroom door, listening to your voice make soft, gasping, sounds of surprise, noises he tried to hold back just a day ago, from all that dedicated attention.

Then he remembers that he’s listening to Sam do this shit and Dean gets his boots on and room key pocketed before he can start saying  _La La La La!_  He texts Sam after he’s out the door.

Dean gives him a solid 20 minutes.  When he returns, the shower is off but Sam’s still in the bathroom, and after a few minutes more Dean can hear swearing too.

“You okay?” he asks through the wood.

“ _No_ ,” Sam replies emphatically, and opens the door.  “This is such a fucking joke.  I got blood on the towel.”  He’s throwing things around in frustration.  “Honestly, I mean, I feel better, but it’s _so _uncomfortable.  Like really, so uncomfortable, so constant, and then at some point I’m like, Oh! That’s because it’s pain.  It’s _pain_ , Dean, the whole time.”__

____

“I know!  But whaddyagonna do right?  You gotta keep doin’ stuff!”

____

“Exactly!  And then that!” Sam gestures at the shower, his tone true to self but the whole tirade ringing so very Y/N to Dean.  “It’s helps, but  _what_ , Dean, what the fuck-” Sam stands up straight and glares at the truth of what he’s about to say in a not-so-confidential voice.  “I’m pretty sure that most women don’t have dildos, but how?   _How_  do they do that without one?  You  _need_  a  _dildo_!”

____

“Yup! You need a cock!” Dean’s nodding, hands on hips.  That’s what you need.  He makes a circle with his finger and thumb. “A good inch, inch and a half-”

____

“An-ny-thing!  And then all this fuckery-” Sam slams the used, wrapped up pad into the wastebasket in disgust.  “-doin’ that however many times a day, for a week of every damn month, for most of her life!  _Just in case!_  It’s  _stupid_!”

____

Dean knows what he means.  He gets it.

____

“Next time we see Chuck, I am havin’ a fuckin’ word.”

____

“Oh I am  _there_  for that. Tap me in.”

____

Sam loses his steam for a moment.  All the clothes and things are where they should be now, and he leans against the benchtop while he thinks… “She ever tell you when she’s like this?”

____

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, “coupla times. But not usually.  I wouldn’t know when it’s coming.”

____

Sam’s about the same, guessing Dean’s gotten as much as him in terms of what you’d ever let on.

____

Dean breaks into his thoughts with, “Damn nice though.”

____

“What is?” Sam eyes him cautiously.

____

“The whole-” Dean waves his hands up and down Y/N’s general area.  “Her whole- you know.  She’s nice.”

____

“You know, I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” Sam says, giving his vulva an absent-minded scratch.  “But I feel like you stir her up a lot.  And she stirs you back, for sure but-” Sam looks at him, head tilted for the truth now. “You stir her up a  _lot_.”

____

“What?” scowls Dean.  “We’re like cousins! I’m just givin’ her shit!”

____

Sam blinks flatly.  “Dean, you’re about a gym class away from pulling her hair.”

____

Dean coughs his disbelief and, at a loss of what to do with this feeling in Sam’s body, starts tucking his hair behind his ears.  “Such a load of crap Sam.”  He walks away and sits on the bed, trying not to think about yesterday and how easily he decided to “help” himself, and how, if he were honest, exactly who’s cock he was imagining amongst all that. “Such a load of crap.”

____

“You should kiss her, see what happens,” Sam suggests, sitting on his bed too.

____

“What?! No! I can’t do that! I can’t kiss my own lips! Ugh! Christ, and using your body?!”

____

“Jesus Dean, I didn’t mean  _today_!” Sam’s near yelling and Dean glances down, crossing his arms guiltily because of course Sam wouldn’t suggest that.

____

“Then she’d see me kissing her!” Sam adds.  _And that makes no sense_ , says Sam’s Y/N face. He shakes his head, propping up his knees so he can lean his elbows there. “Holy Crap. At least you didn’t think I meant  _her_ ,” he says, thumbing at himself in her body.

____

Dean blinks, surly about his twisted reaction, but after a while he’s not so sorry anymore: he’s thinking about maybe actually doing something, maybe kissing Y/N when he’s in himself and she’s in herself.  He suspects maybe she wouldn’t mind, if he found the right moment.  He imagines her surprise, or possibly even some enthusiasm.  Maybe she’d kiss him back.

____

Sam sees how Dean is lost in thought and recognises the dreamy faraway look on himself. “You want  _me_  to kiss her? Tonight?” Sam stirs. “While she’s still you? See how you two look together?”

____

For a short, intense second Dean’s brain is consumed by the image of his face and her face kissing and close, his hand cupping her cheek, her eyebrows high with delight, and it shocks him, how pleasant the idea of seeing all that is, and for a second he forgets that it’d be his brother doing the deed.

____

It’s such a shock, in fact, that he takes it out on Sam. “That’s disgusting Sam!” Dean scolds and gets up for the bathroom just so he has a door to slam. “Just, so disgusting! Knock it off!”

____

…

____

What you couldn’t explain to Dean before - partly because you couldn’t quite admit it to yourself - is that today is nothing like yesterday.  

____

Being in Sam’s body was amazing but much more textbook.  He has this exemplary male body - tall and muscular, a very manly man in a primitive sort of way - something you could study without being too affected.  And somehow it wasn’t at all personal.  So you did not expect to feel like this while in Dean’s body, and the best word you can think of is  _busted_.

____

Because Sam is handsome, sure, sweet and lovely, a total catch.  But Dean  _attracts_  you.  You can’t think straight about him, so you don’t think about him at all.  Objectively, you’d describe him as a bit burlier, softly muscular, and if you really not-thought about it enough, a kind of inoffensively perfect kind of handsome.  He’s very proportionate, very aesthetically pleasing.

____

But none of that makes much difference to you in reality.  Because the way his mouth moves, when his eyebrows bounce, the places his hands touch you, they’re what you connect with and you cannot begin to describe what those things are like because all you can recall is what they do to you, how they make you feel.  You go a little blind, a little deaf, and lose your place for a moment. It’s vibrato in an otherwise pure note, and over months and months of training you’ve learned to not hear it.

____

But now, being inside his body, it’s like being surrounded, caught and trapped.  Every time you do something you’re looking at his hands, or his long, strong legs, and sometimes his face, close and detailed.  You have access to things you want so much but shouldn’t, should  _not_  have.  He has no idea how much you want all of this.  So as much as you’d like to lay under the covers, or stand in the shower, and map out every sweet nerve on him, you’ve taken yourself out for a walk and you keep your eye on the horizon and your hands in your pockets.  He hasn’t said you can, so you don’t, and no amount of temptation, frustration, or anger could persuade you to explore the potential of this, you’re sure.

____


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, you all settle into the situation for a moment. And then you’re yoinked right back into Awkwardtown.

You return with lunch. Everyone eats together, and the tension lifts enough for you to throw a few jokes around.

“Look Dean, I’m putting lettuce in you! Cucumber! Hummus!! Ooooh I feel all healthy and open-minded.”

“Don’t you dare.  I’ll eat cheese.  I will! I’ll stink the room out with Sam’s crying ass!”

“Meanwhile, I actually am eating cheese,” says Sam, getting as much burger into Y/N’s mouth as he can manage.  “Goddamn.  Heaven.”

“Sam, could you not make that face with my face?” you mumble around your food.  “It’s too much information.”

“You make that face all the time,” Dean tells you.  “All the time.”

You don’t want to know why he knows that, or when you do that.  Deflection is in order.  “Me? What about you? Thank God there’s no pie. We’d be into the awkward part of the sex tape.”  That really didn’t go how you meant.  “Because you love  _pie_ ,” you clarify.

“I know, but I don’t like _love_ -”

“You do.”

“Very much.”

“It’s obscene.”

“Should come with a rating,” you nod.  

“I don’t believe you.”  Dean eats his food as though he’s thoroughly unaffected by your words.

So you decide to prove the point, seeing as you have the man himself to do so.  “Oh,” you start, taking a modest bite from your burger.  “Oh sweet Jesus on toast.  That’s the stuff,” you sigh, frowning and chewing emphatically, and you close your eyes to hum and savour the act of eating.

“N- No I don’t.”  Dean’s protests, without confidence.

“Oh m’god,” you mumble, licking lips as though they taste even better.  “Pie.”  You look at him and take a bite- _bite_  into the food, salacious, gluttonous, heady with pleasure - “Uuuuuh that’s  _so_ , so good…” Your lips hang slack and full from the wonderful, wonderful ‘pie’.  You lick corners, and moan, and start chewing with some rhythm, and then chew a bit faster before sitting up with,  “Imma need a napkin!” Now you’re urgent, chewing harder still, and Sam starts giggling.  Dean’s grinning hard.  “Oh my god! Napkin! Imma-! Imma-! Nap! Kin! OOOO _ **OOO**_ oooooh **god** yeeahthat’s the stuff…   _Wooow!”_   You wipe the corners of your mouth and slump back into the chair.  “Fuckin’ pie.”

Dean’s nearly in tears, wheezing into the back of his hand.  It’s too good, so you try out a few other Deanisms. “Hey sweetheart, you like where that came from?   _Hey_  sweetheart! Hey! Sweetheart! Awesome!  _Don’t touch my Baby!”_

He slaps his thigh, stamps his foot, and finally takes a breath.  “Okay hang on.  Hang on.” Dean clears his mouth and sits up straight to mimic his brother. “Jesus  _Christ_ , Dean!”

You and Sam break into silent laughter, and Dean struggles to not laugh, too.  “So get this!”

“So get this!”

“Guys! So get this!”

“Oh shut up!” Sam cries, still laughing at you and Dean. “Just ‘cause I’m always the one with news!”

“Okay, do me!” You wave your hand at him.

“Okay.” Sam shakes your hair from his face and prepares a stern scowl for Dean. “Dean! I’m a grown-ass woman! I can take care of myse- _he-hhh_ -“ but he dissolves into ugly laughter, and Dean tips sideways with it too.

“You can’t do it!” Dean wheezes. “That’s not it!”

“I kno _-_ hh _-hhh!_  I ca-hh-hh _-hhh!”_ They’re both gone.

“Screw you!” You slap Sam in the shoulder. “S’not my fault you idiots need reminding!”

“Hey! You’re gonna feel that tomorrow!” He rubs his shoulder but calms down enough to speak somewhat. “No, but seriously… you’re way stronger than I thought Y/N.”

Dean nods, drinking from his orange juice and wiping his eyes. “Definitely. And not just with the period thing. Which is a load of crap, by the way.”

“I’m officially apologising.” Sam tells you straight as he can. “I knew you’re capable and skilled, but I didn’t expect all this.”

“Oh, you gotta come out tonight.”  Dean’s serious, packing up his wrappers. “You gotta see what she deals with when we’re out.”

Sam looks at you like he’s willing, and you’re surprised. “Really?  It’s nothing! It’s nothing, Sam. And really, I think we should play it safe. What if we meet a monster? Injury is one thing but if we get caught up in something deadly, like we could lose a lot!”

Dean scoffs.  “What? That’s so unlikely, Y/N!  Look, chances are it’ll turn around tomorrow. We’ll do another Kit Kat thing, just to be sure, and hit the town.”

“I’m keen if you are.” Sam’s got both hands on the table, looking up for permission.

“Christ, you’ve changed your damn tune!”

“Well, it was all new yesterday. And you two are clearly okay with it, so why not?”

Fair point.

…

Sam doesn’t seem to struggle with your physique at all, and Dean’s only tell is the way he tips into each step, expecting some bow-legged swagger from Sam’s body.

Your challenge is just coping with everyone else.  The gaze of each woman is like a tag dart and you feel like you come through the crowd covered in flags.  It’s not that different to the way Sam attracted attention, in reality, but nothing was ever going to come of that, and if something did – a kiss, or a grab – you didn’t feel like it’d affect you that much.

In Dean’s body, however, you do not want to feel how this body, or how you, might react to such things.  The whole theme of the night now feels out of bounds and dangerous.  And now, here you are, in the bar toilets, it feels exactly like a terrible mistake.

There are two cubicles, and one of them is out-of-order so much that it’s encroaching upon the neighbouring toilet. When you open the door, a moat of grey water around the bowl has you curling a lip straight off.  Then you see brown and black flecks on the seat and no toilet paper.  Dean’s body backs out on your behalf.  So, urinal it is.

Mercifully, you’re alone for the moment.  You’ve been putting this off since the morning empty, which was easy with a seat.  Stepping up to the well, you set your feet wide, not too close, and undo the fly. It’s just skin really, in a particular shape, up until you pull it out and see it there in your hand.  For a moment you close your eyes and pretend you’re in a medical setting because if you crack a woody right now you’ll shoot yourself.

Someone comes in, so you shake your shoulders out a little, put your other hand on the wall and stare at the bricks.

“You okay?”

An older guy is beside you, jostling himself free to start off, and you’re sure your face says what you’re thinking:  _Dude, you don’t talk here!_

“Yeah, thanks,” you shrug.  “I’m fine.  Just… stressed.”

“I know that,” he says, and starts a strong, steady stream.  “Oh thank god,” he sighs.  “It’s a bit stop-start these days.”

Then he tilts his head a little, looking down at what’s in your hands, and even though you try to hide it, he looks at you and frowns while he nods.   _Not bad,_  he seems to say.

 _What the fuck?_  you ask the wall.

You take a deep breath and try to release, if not relax, and there it goes.  It feels weird.  Tickly. But the internal mechanics are about the same.  And thankfully, you only get a little on your hand.

Dean eyes off your crotch and jeans as you approach the bar again.  “You go okay?” he asks.  “Didn’t want any help? Coulda called.”  From a woman, those words would probably be flirtatious, but Dean’s chuckling to himself with all the chins, trying to get his giggly lips around the bottle.

It’s another comment of his that infuriates you to the point of distraction.  “Don’t think your supervision is  _that_  necessary. It’s pissing, not calligraphy.”  

“Amateur,” he smirks.  “It’s both. Come on, you look like you need a drink. You want your fave?”

And now he’s nice again, thoughtful, handing over the glass.  You take yours and wait for him to take his before you confess. “I think this is a mistake.”

“Why?” asks Dean, drinking again, then Sam’s returned from his trip to the bathrooms, too.  Dean leans over to him.  “Okay so just wait.  Like, do nothing, and wait.  You gotta see it from where you are.”

With a deep breath you plant your feet, shove a hand into a pocket and prepare for whatever it is Dean’s talking about.  Last night felt like your flavour of bad luck.  You don’t feel like tonight should be particularly spectacular either.

“Hey,” Sam leans over to you.  “Women are  _lovely_.”

“Uh, yeah, generally.”

“Seriously, I was waiting for a stall because only one of them had a bin for the period stuff and someone offered me a pad!  Do you want a tampon?  Are you cramping? Do you need some drugs? Like, they were just lovely.”  He looks at Dean, astonished.  “We need more o’that-  WOWfuck!” Sam hiccups all over, and there’s a guy grinning behind him, his friends watching alongside.  Sam turns with a glare, expecting some sorta apology. “What was that?!”

“Just tryna get your attention,” he shrugs, and drinks his beer.

“Well, you’re not getting any more,” Sam tells him.  “That hurt!”

“Oh it did not!” he scoffs and his friends laugh.

You look at Dean and he glances at you, both of you waiting to see how Sam will handle it.  From the pulsing clench in his jaw and the burning scowl on his face, you’re expecting ‘not well’.

Sam turns and gets his finger in the guy’s chest.  “Let me make this clear.  I could snap your finger quicker than you could apologise but I won’t, because I’m  _nice_.  But don’t you  _ever_  fucking tell someone what does and doesn’t hurt.  Okay?”

“O-ho, really?” He doesn’t believe Sam and it’s all the more infuriating.  “Feisty!”

You recognise the kind of jerk this guy is, and decide to intervene.  “Okay, that’s enough.”  You step over and pull Sam back, get within arm’s reach of the guy.  “She’s spoken for, okay?”

“She’s with you?  Right.” All his friends shift a bit now that another ‘man’ is involved. “Where were you before?”

“Over there, expecting the average guy to not be a jerk.  But here you are, bein’ a jerk, so I’m letting you know.  Leave her alone.”

You have no idea how well you could wield Dean’s body in a fight, but for one white second you’d love to find out.  You feel fabric brush against your jacket behind you, knowing that taller-than-usual Dean has your back and although there’re four of them and three of you, the guy decides it’s not worth it.

“I feel sorry for you, man.”  Everyone eases some, and they start to shuffle away.  “She’s a pain in the ass.”

You all watch them leave, moving around to face each other again.  It isn’t until they’re gone that you say, “Yeah, but she’s  _my_  pain in the ass, asshole,” and jut your chin around like you got the last word in just fine.

Dean laughs and drinks, but Sam doesn’t simmer down, just yet.  It’s a few quiet seconds before he says, “Why did you do that?  I coulda taken him.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t’ve changed his mind, just made a spectacle.  And possibly made him worse.  That type of asshole only listens to other guys.  You wanna beat every boy into respecting women, you’re moving mountains with a teaspoon, there.”

“Still.  Woulda been satisfying,” he mumbles.

“H-yeah.  Authentic enough for you?”

Over the next hour, four more men hit on Sam.  Admittedly, it’s definitely worth the apprehension you brought.  He’s patient, polite, and by the last one he has the fine art of rejection down pat: polite but firm, unencouraging, non-committal and it’s such a political dance of Not Yes, you can see quite well why Sam would’ve been wonderful at law.  He is, however, exhausted.

“Please can we go?  This is the worst.”

“So, this is who you’re keeping yourself for?”

Beside you, at Dean’s arm, is the woman from last night.  Her hands are back on that forearm again, fingers wide, while she eyes you up and down like you’re hanging from a hook.

Dean glares at you a little and you glance at Sam.  He’s frowning in confusion, since you didn’t tell him this story.

“Uh, yeah.  This is Dean,” says Dean.

“Hi, Dean,” she says.  “My name’s Elise.”

“Hi, Elise.”  You smile, let her shake your hand, and watch Dean for any cues.

“You feeling better tonight?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you nod deeply, licking the beer from your lips.  “Yup.  Pretty much better, I think.”

“Do you think you guys would be up for anything this evening?”

“W- Iyyyyy I dunno,” shrugs Dean.  You give him a funny frown;  _Why so awkward?_   He glares at you to shut up.  “We have Y/N with us, I’m afraid,” he says gesturing at Sam, who gives a rather annoyed upside down smile because who the hell is this and is he chopped liver now?

“Hi Y/N.  Um, well, do you see Clare over there? She wasn’t with us last night either.”  Elise points at the booth behind him, right where they all were yesterday, and there’s Clare, sitting beside another woman.  Clare waves, says  _Hi_  with her smile, and waits for Sam to reply.

He turns back to your conversation, swivelling on the spot, thoroughly stunned.  “Yup.  I see her.”

“Well, she’s been checking you out all night.  Would you mind if she got a closer look?” Elise then looks at Dean, and finally at you.  “If we all did?”

Any minute now, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three of you are being offered something amazing. It could be both the best and worst thing ever.

“You know what? A-ha-” Dean extricates himself from Elise’s grasp and holds up a finger for her time.  “We’re just gonna take a minute and confer, over here.”

“We, too, shall be conferring,” she simpers, “over there.”  Elise heads back to her friends, watching you all shamble toward to the bar - hands on each other, eyes on the girls - for some clandestine discussion.

“Holy fuck and Jesus. What the hell happened last night?!” Sam is aghast.

“So, Y/N here, in your body, was hit on by Elise,” Dean explains, “and she did a hella smooth job of turning her down since we had you-” Dean gestures at himself, “-out of action.”

“Way smoother than you, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, even I was tempted,  _trust_  me.”

You peer at Dean because you can’t tell if he’s being honest or taking a crack at you.

“Anyway,” Dean glances over his shoulder.  “I’m betting y'all are a Hell No but this is so frikken freaky I figured a chat was at least in order.”

Of course, he does. Your bitterness goes well with the beer, as per usual when Dean talks to Sam about conquests in front of you. But then you look down at your hand around the bottle, the veiny strength of your arms, your boots, and realise you’re literally one of the boys. He means you, too.

Fact is, though, today Dean’s found he functions best when he pretends there are two Sams and one of them’s just a bit girlier than usual. The other looks like you.  So you’re both guys, pretty much. Nothin’ to see.

“What exactly are they offering?” Sam asks.

“Uh, nothing exact,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty sure they mean some sort of orgy.”

“You know what, too?  I think it’s more than two couples,” Dean tells you, “but you only get to call it an orgy if you’re all in the same room, definitely if there’s swapsies.”

You look at Dean while you finish your drink.  “If that’s what your heart tells you.  Look, Sam-   _Sam?_ ” He’s twisted around to see Clare and you have to click near his ear to bring him back.  “You with us?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s really hot,” mutters Sam, then he notices your concern. “What?  Are you interested?”

“Woah!   _Hey!”_   Are you angry?  Sort of?  Maybe.  You’re not sure.  “This is a big deal! Why are you so okay with this? How much have you had to drink?”

“What? The usual,” he shrugs.  You and Dean both wonder at each other if that’s his ‘usual’ or yours, and finally, Sam flares up.  “Hey, did I complain about my aching hips all day? Did I tell you about all the gooey blood? The tender nipples? Huh?  Did I complain about cravings that didn’t get met?   _No._  I’ve had a shit of a day, on toppa yesterday.  I want a silver fucking lining.”  Well, he certainly has that spiteful, reckless flavour of PMS down pat.

Sam finishes his drink and plants it on the bar, his mind made up.  “Damn straight. And you know what? You know who puts this shit on bucket lists? No one.  Because it doesn’t happen.  Why the hell should we pass up this experience?  Life is all colours kooky enough for us as it is.  Who gives a shit if we get another layer of wackadoo in our lives? At least it’ll be fun!” Sam turns back to look at Clare again and you and Dean gape at each other.

“You trust me in your body?!” Dean asks his brother.

“Of course!” And Sam asks you, “You trust me in yours?”

“I- W-  _Yeah_ , in so much as I trust you won’t let me get hurt but Sam-” Screw letting the side down, you have to say how you feel.  “I don’t know that I’m ready to see myself go down on a woman!”

“What if she goes down on me?” Sam says it so fast you can tell, even in your own face, that it’s exactly what he’s been hoping for.

“Sam, you have my period,” you gently remind him.  “You sure she’s going to be up for that?  It’s not likely she’s a lesbian vampire.”

Dean coughs on his beer, bowing out of the conversation for a moment, and Sam blinks at your chest, thinking hard about a fix for that.

“Oh God, look, guys.” You rub your brow and try to think of a compromise for whatever the hell this is.  “Do you really want to see someone else use your body to fuck someone?”

They stare at you and your succinct summary, then at each other for their succinct opinion on that.

“Jesus.  You know what? Okay.  I guess it’s only one order of magnitude worse than being Tammy the legal secretary last month.”  You finish your drink too and trust in your ability to cope.  “I’m going to apologise in advance for ruining your reputation Dean,” and you say to Sam, “You can do the same for me.”

“Hey! I know what I’m doing!”

You roll your eyes and head for the booth of debauchery.  Her name is Rose and when she scoots forward on the seat, into the light, you and Sam both stare at her some: She looks a _lot_  like you.

“I have a type,” Clare shrugs.

“And I’m straight,” shrugs Rose, and she steps forward to give you a slow kiss on the cheek.  “Mmmm, scruff.”

You all head out, Elise leading the way with Dean’s hand in hers. Sam leans over to whisper “What the fuuuuuuck?” in your ear and, once again, they’re your exact thoughts.

…

The six of you walk in pairs and it gives you the feeling that there won’t be much share-share going on across the evening.  Rose clings to your arm and gazes at Dean’s face with all the glowing anticipation you’ve ever crushed.

Before you, Dean has his arm around Elise, and hers is around him, but you can tell from the stop-start of his sentences, the halting way they rise, that he’s not his usual abandoned self.

And your voice behind you is just plain peculiar because that is definitely Sam talking, asking thoughtful questions, laughing at Clare’s jokes.  It’s just he’s so…  _suave_.  It seems he’s decided to run with it completely.

…

The women share a hotel room.  All of you try not to look at the differences – good linen, minibar brands, opaque curtains, more than one couch and, most remarkably, a separate bedroom.

“If you’re local,” asks Dean, “why the hotel room?”

“We’re here every quarter,” purrs Elise, running her hand across his waist as she goes to the fridge. “We run a workshop in town.”

“Oh yeah? What on?”

“Team building exercises.”

Elise hands him a glass of something fruity, and Dean struggles to reply as he takes a sip of regret. “Well, I bet those teams get fuckin built.”

“You should see our Trust Fall demonstration.” Elise has no shame.

There’s a moment, among the drink offers and jacket tosses, where Sam pulls you aside and whispers at you “How do I broach the period issue?”

“Just say, Hey, I’m sorry if this is a damper on the night, but I’ve got my period right now-”

“Right, right.”

“-and that you’re willing to, you know, ‘work around it’.  And if she still seems keen maybe ask if there’s something in particular she’d like to do, or, I guess, have you do?”

Sam thinks at the ground and pokes his head around to check who’s nearby, which is no one really, before he wonders a moment longer…  “She’s probably gonna want some head,” he mutters.

Awkwardness has hit a new extremity.  “I really don’t need to know,  _Y/N_.”

“Oh, and hey,” Sam assures you, “she doesn’t really look like you that much.  Not really.”

It isn’t a comfort, and when Sam properly notices your expression, he realises.  “Shit, sorry.  Don’t ask, don’t tell, right?”

“You know, I keep saying Jesus Christ, and still, no one comes.”

“You want another drink?” Rose is by your side, whiskey ready, and you hold up a finger, meaning to have at least a final touch-base with the guys before anything kicks off.  But when you look around, Sam’s being led into the attached bedroom, the door left open, and Elise has her back to you as she pushes the shirts off Dean’s 6’4” body.

You meet his eyes, the green in Sam’s hazel standing out a little more tonight, and check, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods.  “Are you?”

He has his hands on Elise’s shoulders, ready to put a stop to her kitten-kisses along his neck, if you ask him to.  Rose was putting the drink down somewhere and she comes back, standing before you, sighing and rubbing her palms up and down your chest, and a strange look comes over Dean’s face, something consuming.  He looks back up at you and nods for an answer.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay, but,” you swallow and glance down at Rose.  “You gonna be okay with us in the same room?”

Rose looks over her shoulder at Dean and, after a moment of distraction, he shrugs a little, explaining with  “We’re brothers.”  He smirks like  _What’re the chances of that, huh?_

“Oh!” Rose looks back at you, tickled pink.

Elise adds that fact to the spank bank, whispering, “That is awesome.”

“It’s fine, though,” Dean nods at you.  “Go for it.”

A moan floats over from next door, then there’s a little organisational chat, followed by a few  _Yeahs_ , your voice saying  _Like this?_  and her  _That’s nice,_ followed by a long sigh and something hitting the carpet.  You and Dean look at each other for the last time in a while.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is all in.

So, Dean means for you to take him for a spin.

You cannot nail down how you feel about that, or about why he might want it.  And you’re pretty sure Sam is not going to hold back with whatever your body can do.

And you would, you think, jump in, snorkel and all, but Rose jumps first, on you.  “Holy crap, you can kiss,” she mumbles, the heels of her hands pushing your cheeks into hers.

“You too,” you think to say.  It’s hard not to glance up and see Dean over there, kissing Elise.  She threads her fingers into Sam’s long hair and Dean groans at how nice it feels.  Then she takes a handful, pulling his head back so she can bite at his neck and you hear her ask, “That’s why you grow it, right?”

“Probably,” he sighs, going along with her.  His eyes are nearly closed, but you can tell he’s watching Rose, looking at her shape.  

Sighs and gasps come from the room next door, from Clare, and your far away voice answers them.

You let Rose begin to undress you, and while you look down at what she reveals, Elise moves Dean into a lounge chair.  It’s wide and high, and she straddles his lap while she sucks on his face.  The large hands roam up and down her back with practised ease, brushing hair, holding her hips.  You’re a little jealous that he has the advantage in this being a guy in a guy’s body.

“I wanna suck you off,” Elise murmurs.  “You can see them both from here, can’t you?”

Slowly she inches down his body, pulling his t-shirt up and off - “A fucking Adonis” - licking and kissing across Sam’s broad chest.  By now you’re also topless, jeans undone, shoes off. But Dean’s looking into the next room, letting Elise do whatever she pleases.

His expression, once ready and contained, has now slipped into helpless regret because he can see Sam in your body, leaning over Clare’s, licking over her nipples while your hand does something he can guess at.  He sees Clare gather your locks and writhe beneath Sam, bucking at the moments of perfection, grabbing carpet and forearms.  Dean sees her open her eyes to the ceiling as Sam whispers in her ear, and she gapes, arching back from something he does inside.  Jealousy and lust pull on him inside.

You can’t see Sam and Clare, but you can tell they’re ahead of you.  And now Elise has Dean’s pants open and he’s staring at Rose’s head like it’s the last safe thing he can look at.

 _So he should_ , you think.  Once again, you feel a flicker of antagonism, spurned on by the hedonism and the uncomfortable, tight weight of Dean’s cock full and hot in your pants.  You imagine it, how it’s not really yours but yours right now, and a strange pride and jealousy makes your thinking bounce all over the place: Maybe you wouldn’t be so distracted by Dean’s body if he wasn’t such a teasing jerk to you.  Maybe, if he didn’t mock you so flirtatiously, you’d be able to think more clearly about him.  Maybe he could be a little more modest.  Maybe the way you feel about him is  _all his fault._

Like Sam’s snowballed readiness to fuck it all and fuck anything, you, too, are right about ripe to do something similar to Dean.

So,  _fine_.  If he wants an experience, he can have one.  Or not, for that matter.

“Rose?” You brush her hair back and wait for her to look up and listen to you.  “Could you grab me that cushion over there please?”

“Yah.” She’s gone and back in a beat.

“Thanks, Gorgeous.” You smile easy and warm, something you haven’t really tried out with Dean’s face yet, and you watch her go all gooey and weak.  “Let’s get some of this outta the way huh?”

Undressing Rose is your revenge.  You’re slow, reverent.  You let your fingers follow hemlines and your lips chase the shadows.  “Just beautiful,” you whisper, and look at her with a hunger you’ve dreamed of seeing.  On your knees, you push down her pants and push up her ass like  _Here, see this?_ and you hear Dean grunt about something, then suck the air through his teeth.

“Take it easy sweetheart,” he says kindly.  “S’not a race.”

“You want slow?” Elise asks.

From around Rose’s waist you spy Elise jerking Dean’s jeans down.  She groans at his upper thighs, the line of the muscles, and tucks her face in under the balls.  Dean watches you not look directly at him.

Eating out Rose is Dean’s torture.  You nuzzle into her hair and drop your jaw low, reaching Dean’s tongue out (which has surprising length) and push it into her crease.  She takes a deep breath and spreads her stance some, lets her head tip back as you do the same and get in under the curve.  You take hold of the back of her thighs, pull her close with your forearms and let Dean watch a woman who looks like you get pleasure from his body.

“Jesus Dean, you uh-” He swallows.  “You gonna let the woman breathe?”

You reach up behind her and down, down, down your palms coast, from shoulder to knee, and you look up at Rose gone rosy.  She smiles down at you, cupping your talented head, and you wink, just to see her teeth.  “She’s breathin’ just fine.”

“Hmm.”  Her smile could steal pardons from prisoners.

You guide her onto her back, her hips settling onto the cushion she brought.  Sam and Clare are still at it, but Clare’s begun to moan a kind of aching sound of tolerance, riding out the pleasure she can’t dictate.  Sam murmurs something inspiring in her ear and she curses in reply.  Dean swallows again, and Elise goes down on his long, long cock.  His fingers splay out and he blows a breath through pursed lips.

“Holy shit, Sam,” she tells Dean. “How do you manage this thing?”

“I get help, obviously,” grunts Dean, but he isn’t really able to talk right now.  You’re leaning over Rose now, cock out, jeans tucked just below your balls, and with a condom on, no less.  You’re kissing Rose and you’ve got your fingers inside her.

From where Dean is he can see her breasts, and neck, he can watch her body respond to what you do, but her face is hidden enough that he could pretend it’s you if he wanted.  Shit, he could pretend it’s just about anyone, but he pretends it’s you.

From the next room, you hear Clare kind of crack it.  She starts demanding from Sam that he do what she wants, and even though Sam seems to be trying to rein her in, she comes anyway, long and relieved.  Elise bobs up and down on Dean’s cock and he crushes his brow to his nose, trying to stave it off.  Thankfully, more noise comes from next door.  “Wait there, Y/N,” Clare pants.  “I gotcha.”

“What? No,” Sam starts, “it’ll be too messy.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” she says.  “That was awesome.”

There are a few rustling sounds while you work Rose boneless with your fingers, some silences and then, “Just try- just lay here…” she says, then Sam talks like everything has gone still.  “Ohmygod!  …I-  Holy-   _Yes_.”

Making Rose come is cruelty.  She’s started to wind up, and you can see Dean’s long Sam-legs shift and drag on the floor beyond her.  You add a second finger and lean down, sucking her clit between these luscious lips and flicking your tongue while you rub inside.  She arches and curls, grabs and cries out, and you see her start to tremble everywhere, a sheen of light sweat appearing.

“Actually, you know what?” Elise has changed her mind.  She pulls off Dean, leaving him to bounce up in surprise, and returns with a condom, too, rolling it down over him.  “This okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he answers, and gives her his attention while she gets her gear off.  She turns around and lines him up with her pussy, sliding onto him in one swift move.

Now he can’t see.  Dean grabs the chair, shuffles it a little, and gasps, “Oh, my god,” because there, through the door, is a terribly similar scene but just slightly, ironically, reversed.

Clare has a dildo, pink and thick, and she’s slid it into your body so well that Sam has his head thrown back, elbows and scalp to the carpet.  Dean can see the rapture just fine.

Meanwhile, Rose has a leg wrapped around your waist and her sighs are almost in time with Sam’s over there.  You’ve pushed Dean’s cock into her firm and full, and it feels amazing, absolutely thrilling, right back to your spine.  You breathe through it and concentrate on her and the task at hand: fucking the hell out of Rose.

Steadily you begin to thrust, a rolling, surging thing that makes Dean’s cock plunge in and lick out.  “Oh, sweet JEEsus!” she sighs and lets her body fall slack on the floor.

Clare’s attention is now split between watching Sam get your body off on her dildo, and watching Elise get her body off on Sam’s.  Elise is gazing at you, mostly, eyes heavy and lips slack as her hair starts to cling to the sweat.  Dean can’t decide whether to watch Sam come, or you, or Rose, or to just close his eyes and think of yesterday.

“Ohfuck, Sam,” cries Elise, her words bouncing as she does, “your cock is perfect.”

“Nu-huh,” says Rose, frowning and gasping into her arm flung above her.  “Dean’s cock is so! Oh! God! Thick! Fuck!”

Fucking Rose is punishment.  You’ve started to really ram it home now and Dean can see how much she loves it.  From upside down, her brow curls like yours, her lips are full like yours, and over there is your actual body getting nearly the same thing, with less lighting. He thinks maybe the only reason he hasn’t come yet is from sheer distraction.

You keep thinking that the next beat will be the one that makes you burst, but Sam’s got that frustrated, needy ache somewhere over there and it’s kind of how you feel.  Too much near-perfection, too many things.  Yet, at about the same time, Clare and Rose figure out what’s missing.  They reach down to their respective clits and start to rub, flick, whatever it is that makes eyebrows surrender, and Elise takes the cue to do the same.  Pussies everywhere start to shudder and pull, and moans climb in earnest.  

Dean can’t watch any more.  He reaches around Elise, finding her breasts and she yelps at the way he can brush his fingers over them, but it’s more a gesture of thanks than anything, and he grabs her hips, helps her slam down a few times and makes her cries blend into a yell as she comes, wet and sweating.  

Her voice – so different to yours or Dean’s - is so damn sexy, and Sam knows, somewhere in his pleasure addled mind, that it’s  _his_ cock that Elise’s been moaning about.  It’s Clare ramming that dildo, though, just a little quicker each time, taking him higher until Sam thinks he can’t take anymore but then she pinches his clit, fiddles with it, and holds on just enough to be able to shake it back and forth.  That’s what makes it all explode.  Sam tries to shout it out, but his gasps and voice get confused and he just ends up convulsing instead, all the way up to his throat.

You lean over Rose, listening to Sam come in your body as you get yourself home on a set of thrusts that shove Rose off the cushion and tilt her hips in a nice, new way.  With your lips pushed into Roses pulse, Dean’s body orgasms harder and longer than whatever you’ve imagined.  The balls still tingle and pulse; your inner thighs buzz and your ass feels like it’s holding hot candy.  You can’t even remember what it was you tried to do other than give Dean an eyeful of you using his body to dazzle a woman with this dick.  It doesn’t matter though; she’s swimming around like a octopus on ecstasy, so you figure everything’s okay.

You lay down next to her, pull her close and let her hug you with everything that still moves.  Elise has lain herself back on Dean.  His fingers spread wide on her belly and hers are threaded through his hair again.  

You hear Clare ask, “You ever come like that before?” and after a while Sam answers, “No.  No, I really haven’t.”

“Was it okay?”

“That… that might be the best orgasm of my life.”  Sam laughs a little, and they kiss a while, you guess.

“What about you, Sam?” Elise asks Dean.  “You think you’ll ever top watching everyone getting their rocks off together?”

You lean your head back to look at him and something like danger thrills through you.  He’s staring at you, and at Rose, dark and fiery.

“’S pretty unlikely.”

Rose leans her head back, too, even though it must be uncomfortable.  “Can I have your number?” she slurs.

“Only if I can have yours.”  You smile and feel her wriggle against you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part is essentially the equivalent of when you think you’re so going to be _fine!_ So fine! Because you probably didn’t drink _that_ much, and doesn’t your body deal with alcohol so _well?!_ No, sweetie, just no. This hangover will last days. (And by ‘alcohol’ I mean life-changing sex.)

By the time everyone is dressed again, Dean’s looking a little evasive whenever Elise hasn’t got his attention.  Sam, however, is languid, relaxed, and generally looking very comfortable in your skin.

Rose offers you another drink, but you hold your hand up saying, “I think we need to get going.”

“You don’t wanna do swapsies?’ Dean asks tightly.  His words have that edge that others can’t pick.  “Mix it up a bit?”

“Well, we’ve gotta go  _home_  tomorrow,” you tell him pointedly.  “We should get back before we all turn into pumpkins.”

Dean looks at Sam and they start to move away from their respective dates.  Thankfully, no one takes offence, and the goodbyes are easy.  Rose and Elise kiss you and Dean like there’s elixir on your tongues, their hands pulling on necks and collars.  Sam kisses Clare into the crook of his elbow as though he’s shipping out tonight.

Out on the street, as you walk back to the motel, Sam bounces ahead, spritely and energised.  “Can you play any instruments Y/N?” He walks backwards for a while to talk to you.

“Uh, sorta, I can-”

“Think your hands remember how?”

Uuuuuuh, it’s too late for this.  “I dunno, Sam.  You wanna find a bar with an old piany?”

He grins at you, turns around again and walks ahead fast enough to give you your own space with Dean.  “So what’s up with you?” you ask him.  “You got dick envy or something?”

“God no,” Dean groans. “This thing is ridiculous.  Seriously, I cannot be fucked with this clown shoe thing.”

You start to giggle, and giggle even more when he groans, “Oh, shut up, okay? You know what I mean.”

“No, I so do,” you laugh.  “There is no way that king dong is getting anywhere near whatever body I’m in!”  By now Dean’s laughing with you.  “Nu-uh! This,” you gesture at your pants, “this is enough.  This I can handle.”

“ _Clearly_ , yes, you can,” Dean says, and after a while his laughter dies off.  

Yards of concrete pass beneath you as wait for him to add to that, whatever it might be… Is he going to tell you what he saw? Or ask you to explain what you showed him? Why do you feel like he knows exactly what you both threw at each other.  

“You think there’s ever been, in the history of humans, anything more passive aggressive than what we just did?”

“Why would you say that?” you ask, and look at him, with no reply.  

The motel is in sight and your room’s light is on.  You expect Sam has already carved up the last Kit Kat, but you want to know what Dean thinks happened. So ask him “Huh?” and wait.

He shrugs his shoulders, resettling Sam’s jacket, and digs his hands into his pockets a little deeper.

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?” you prompt. You’re pretty much within earshot of your room, and you’ll have to walk in there pretending you didn’t talk about anything important.

Dean scoffs. “I enjoyed all sorts of selves.  Feel like a bit of an asshole. What about you?” he asks, waiting for you to open the door.  “Did you enjoy my self?”

You don’t watch Dean now, because his Sam face is starting to get to you.  It’s much easier to look at your body, standing on the other side of the table with the Kit Kat in three, because you know where you are and how you feel.  Dean sounds bitter, or sorry, or scared, except his body feels something different altogether - exhilaration? Readiness? You don’t know for sure.  You don’t know why it feels like him instead of you.

“I think we should eat this and sleep as soon as possible.”  Everyone chomps around their chocolate and nods at your suggestion.

You use the bathroom and change into sleep clothes, crawling into bed before you’ve even tied the drawstring.  You want to go back.  You want to look into Dean’s eyes and see how he feels, feel how you feel.  You want to go home.

…

You remember, years ago, going on fairground rides and when the cart came to a stop, or the horizon stopped moving, you’d look around and wonder which way was up, and reorient yourself towards your belongings.  

You’ve never had to do that first thing in the morning, in a regular bed, but today, you give yourself a few seconds to stare at the ceiling and figure out if you weigh more or less than yesterday, or if your hair is different, or even if you’re just closer to the bathroom.

Which you are.  You have your body back and, blessed be, no cramps.

You turn your head and look over at Sam in his bed.  He looks like he’s getting some good rest.  Dean’s snoring somewhere beyond that.  Your pussy has a bit of a post-sex ache, but it’s no worse than your usual Period circa Day 3.

In the bathroom, you sit and pee, thinking back to that first morning with Sam’s wang innocently doing its best, and wonder what he thought of it all.  The biology and grossness, just using a different voice, the hair.  You wipe with gratitude, and stand at the mirror to wash, shifting your hair around, having a good hard look at yourself.  You feel kind of stuck, though, tethered to the mirror and unable to turn or tilt enough to get a better perspective of your face and, after nearly spraining an eye, you decide mirrors are a complete joke.

You run your hands over yourself, under your breasts, your chin, around the top of your thighs, and into your hair. It feels so normal, yet kind of alight, as though you know exactly where your skin starts and stops, how high you are, the gravity of where you are right now, and the space.  It’s the corners, your wrists and ankles, your waist, around your hairline, all these edges of you that were similar on them but  _other_ , like it’s not just your body being different, but a reconfiguration of the air around you.  And when you look down and see your womanly shapes, how unique and valuable you can be in this trio, in what you do… damn hormones.

“You okay?” Dean’s up on an elbow, asking about cramps or whatever, as you come back into the main room.

“Yeah, I’m good,’ you smile.  “You?”

“Never better.”

His smile is timid, or kind, and that’s the last time he properly looks at you for the rest of the day.

…

“…I mean, the whole reproductive process,” Sam says, hooking his elbow over the front seat to look at you in the back, “Don’t you kinda love it?”

“God, I wouldn’t go that far,” mutters Dean, his eyes dedicated to the road.

“The vitality of it?! The- the- it’s like a miracle, doncha think?” Sam looks at you with all the earnest enthusiasm of someone who just seen high-res pics of something like Saturn or butterfly wings.

‘Uuuuh, I guess? I mean, it’s an amazing thing but I still resent how frequent it is.” You lean back and look out the window.  “It’s been a massive hindrance for my gender.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, “I was pretty angry about that.”

“Mm, thanks.  So how is it, do you think, that guys haven’t grown some sort of bone casing for their balls?” You’re pretty much thinking aloud now, and keep talking over their nods and chuckles.  “Being kicked in the taco is the last thing on my mind, but your googlies are so vulnerable! How are they not constantly threatened?”

“To be honest,” Sam turns to you, “ours always is.  But you’re right.  There’s no honour amongst thieves, so I don’t know how it is that if we don’t hit theirs they won’t hit ours.”

“Oh, but we did, once-” Dean points at Sam, “You remember that asshole vampire, just went straight for your junk ‘cause why not?”

“Yes.”  The memory is clearly inspiring: Sam is pissed, fast, and he tells you with a very tight face, “I hit him way more than what was strictly necessary.”

It’s nice to talk again as friends, without the vitriol and acidity, although last night is left distinctly untouched. Sam seems pragmatic and miraculously okay about the whole thing, but Dean isn’t quite right somehow.

…

“Hey.”  Your turn around in time to see Dean stopped by your door.  He’s in socks and sleep clothes and so are you, on your way back from the bathroom.  “You got a minute?”

“Sure.”  You gesture toward your room.  “You wanna-”

“Yeah.  Yeah, it’s not corridor talk.”  He follows you in, rocks side to side on his way to your desk and leans back against it as you pack things away.  It always makes your skin feel funny when he’s in your room, taking up space, leaving traces of his aftershave for the hours after.  You can never tell if it’s weird to have him there or not, nor how casual you should act, and today is certainly not the day you’ll achieve objectivity about that.

Because you can’t look at him without thinking about last night.  In no way do you want to talk about last night.  You want to pretend it didn’t happen.   But Dean’s here with a smile that keeps flickering like a broken neon light so you brace yourself for the inevitable discomfort and hope it’s not too painful.  “So what’s up?”

“So uh, I noticed Sam.  He’s been a lot more um-”

“Okay?”

“Yes.  I was going to say objective, but yes.  He’s just so  _okay_ , like he’s come back from a safari or some shit,” Dean says, grinding a grin about that, “which is annoying as hell, but fine.  Guess coping with this sorta thing is his bag.  Which is  _fine_.”

You sit on the middle of your bed, laughing a bit and waiting for the rest.

“I feel like-” Nope, hadn’t decided on this part yet.  He just had a gut feeling he had something to say and hoped it would present itself at this point.  But instead he’s scooping the air in front of his belly like the feeling might turn up in his fingers.  “Were you more comfortable in Sam’s body than mine?”

“Yeah, I was. But I was still angry on the first day so,” you shrug, “not really interested in giving a shit?”

“Yeah.”  That’s not it.  He keeps thinking and you wait, picking at a cuticle for a few moments… “I feel like I should tell you everything that happened to your body while you weren’t there.”

“Why? What d’you do to me?”

“Nothing! Seriously, I spent 90% of the time just coping,” he assures you. “But there was a bit, in the shower…” He nods sideways, hoping you’ll verb him out of this.

“Yeah, I got that impression.”  In hindsight - which is not 20/20 by the way, it’s practically myopic, because at the time you had a wonderful perspective and you felt just fine about that then, as though the whole experience was so ridiculously surreal, surely no brain could contain it, right?  But now, with your fully functional and complete memory?  In  _hindsight_ , you’re not okay with either of them having been there, especially Dean.  What you want is for him to show you exactly what he did so that you can experience it, as though you can reclaim the time and replace him with yourself in your body’s history.  And then forget that, too.

You’re lost in thought about how to broach that when Dean interrupts you: “I could see what Sam was doing, too.  I don’t know how to tell you about all that without it getting pretty porny.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to tell me,” you say, picking a blanket fluff. “I’m fine with guessing.”

You look up at him and realise you feel guilt, because porny is what you were trying to throw at him last night.  And you remember why you did it, too… “Why don’t we get along better?   We hunt so well as a team, but right now I feel like I should be leaving.”

“What? No!” Dean steps to the bed and sits, pulling a knee up so he can lean your way.  “No, don’t do that. It’s just, I was… cheeky when you first arrived and you bit back and I think we misunderstood each other.”

“I don’t think we misunderstood each other.”  

“You were-”

“You were a little shit.  I was just defensive, and bitchy.”

“ _Upset_ ,” he says forgivingly, “and showed it _with your words_.  And I just replied in kind.  And off we went.”

“Like a pair of Tassie Devils.”

“Well, you’re very good at it.  I kept tryna one-up you.”  Dean watches your fingers picks at threads.  “You’re very good at a lot of things, Y/N.”  You glance at each other and you nod a bit at the compliment, still chewing your lip at the situation.  “I’m usually proud of it, most times, but I get a little jealous sometimes, too.”

“You’re  _kidding_  me.”

“It’s just-” he waves his hand at the space between you like there’s the reason.  “If you weren’t here, that’s the kill I’d get.  That’s the-”

“You are a child.”  Good grief, has he been competing with you all this time?

“Oh, come on.  That’s a reasonable-”

“What did you mean by passive-aggressive, last night?”  Yep, like a band-aid; right off.

“Okay now see, that’s so frustrating.  You can’t just call it out like that!  You jump past all the parts and just expect answers! I-”

“ _Hey!_  You’ve kept me angry at you for a whole year! What did you mean, Dean?!”

“You fucked her!” Here we go.  “You fucked her - a  _you lookalike_  - with  _my_  body!  And you did it like you could do it better!”

You sit up taller, straightening as you get more and more cross.  About what, though, you’re not sure.  At being called out? At the frankness of it? The topic? Because he’s right: you had his body fuck someone that looked like you, and you did a good job, too.  But you’ve never tried to one-up him.

“It’s not rocket science, Dean, it’s  _sex_.  You have a dick.  It even shows you where to go!”

Dean gets off the bed, too frustrated to sit still, and walks back and forth, rolling his thumbs inside his fingers as he simmers.  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

You climb off the bed too, facing him from the other side.  “Are you jealous?  You had Elise! She was gorgeous! She was all over you!”

“Yeah, you don’t know!” He stops at the end of the bed and points at you like he’s grinding the words under his finger.  “I watched that, you making Rose so fucking delirious with sex, and I could see- I could  _see_ -”

“What? Sam?” You stand at the end of the bed too, about ready to slap him for this.

“Your body!  It was naked! And coming! A lot!”

“That’s not my fault!”

Dean gets up in your face now, growling, and warm breath fills the space between you. “Were you showing off? Huh? Sayin’, ‘Look what I can do with your dick?’”

Fuck him, you think.  He doesn’t even need to know why you do anything.  “Maybe I was into it.” You shrug snide, dare him for more.  “Maybe I liked using your cock.”  Oooh shit, that’s a bit something.

And you can see it is, too, because he pauses, just a smidge, and pulls on a breath, fanning the flames. “You knew full well I could see your body,” he accuses, “and you lined it up so I got a sweet old view of my body fucking someone and someone fucking you, like-” He cups his hands, moving them together like they fit, turning them each time.  “You  _knew!”_

“FUCK YOU!” You’re done.  “I was just doin’ my best! It’s not my fault I had your body to work with! It’s not my fault someone figured out how to make mine come!  I’ve done  _nothing wrong!!”_

Dean nods, frowned and angry, and huffs out one breath exactly.  “Well  _neither have I!”_  he cries, and leaves.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, last time, Dean tried to bring the olive branch, but kind of ended up whacking you with it instead. This time, he’s going to focus on how he _wants it to be._ He’s going to be _mature,_ fuck it.

You could clear your room in less than an hour.  You’ve been thinking about it so much, you’re sure.  Four bags, a good wipe down, one note, gone.  Dean being perfectly civilised and amiable for two whole days? That changes nothing.  You still have your toes at the line, ready to push off and go.

It isn’t until the third morning that you begin to trust it. He turns to you, says, “You wanna do the supply run?” and offers his keys.

“Seriously? You’re okay with me taking the car?”  This is almost unprecedented.  Even when it is your turn to do the run, he drives you.

“Yeah! Sure, look, you probably need a bit of space and you can hardly get that with me chauffeuring you around. Take the car.”  His arm is still outstretched and he’s nodding at his hand, insisting.

“Okay.”

“You’ll be careful, I know.” Can’t even help himself.

“You know I love your car, Dean,” you groan. “I’ll take her to lunch.”

“Jeez, I didn’t mean make me jealous.”  And there it is again - half a stab, half a flirt.

…

You look after Baby so much you buy some new oil and fill her up.  At the counter, there’s a stand of sweet temptations and a neat row of Kit Kats shines at you.  They’re only two-finger sized, and just the metallic red of it makes your world tilt downwards a bit.

At the same time, it’s a Kit Kat.  You like Kit Kats, always have.  They’re light, and handy and you can always buy one pretending you’ll have the rest later, even if you never notice yourself taking the last finger.  

You’re kinda shitty that Kit Kats could be ruined for you, forever.  So you buy three packs, one for each of you, so you can remind yourselves you’re not intimidated by chocolate.

…

“Hey, got you this.”  You hand a Kit Kat toward Sam as you finish putting things away.

Instinctively he leans away from the glinting red before he even registers what it is.  “Don’t point that thing at me,” he mutters.

“Oh come on. You can’t be dictated to by a shitty curse.  Eat it out of spite, at least.”

Sam tilts at you, sideways, and blinks flatly at your point before swiping the bar out of your hand.  He unwraps it and takes a bite off the end, right through both fingers.

“Ugh, Jesus, Sam.  You’re such a heathen.”

He grins and chomps, turns the bar around to bite some off the other end too.

_“Savage!”_

You leave to the sound of his laughter.

Dean spends the afternoon on his car, and you forget to bring a Kit Kat to dinner.  So, before bed, you knock on his door and offer him his.  “For the good will, today.”

He takes a deep sigh and leans against the frame.  When he takes the Kit Kat, he runs his fingers up and down the edges, saving it for later.  You open yours and snap it - the correct way.

“I’m sorry I was such an ass, before.”

“Meh, the whole thing was a massive mind fuck.” You offer him the other finger of yours, which he takes.  “I can’t believe we didn’t come out of it with a massive hangover and the vague memory of a three-way.”

Dean chuckles, and bites into his portion. “You know, I don’t even like these that much.  More of a Snickers guy.”

“Huh, of course.”

The eye contact catches, sparks, and, as in the past, you pull away before you finish a breath.  You always forget whether you were breathing in or out anyway.

“You know I like you right?” says Dean.

“Yeah.”  You shrug, shift your position, cross your arms.  “I like you guys, too.  I’m just… not sure how all that has messed us up.”

Dean goes on with backing up his point, since you seem to have missed what he really means. “Because when we’re not arguing and at each other, we’re kinda awesome.”

You nod, thinking about how well you all fit together sometimes.  “Yeah.  No, I’d say, definitely, this work partnership is the best I’ve had. And there’s… some of the non-work times.”

“Exactly,” he’s gesturing at you, “and I’d hate for a curse to fuck that up.  I think, maybe, we should just see it as some very well-tailored porn that no one else knows about and move on with our lives.”

“That I can do.”

Dean bites into his finger and you face each other for a while, enjoying a few moments of peace together.

See, Dean’s spent two days trying to not goad you.  He’s wanted to prove to himself he can be around you and not flirt, not stir, not poke or flare up, but he’s found that, for that to happen, he has to relax and give in to a certain truth about you he’s been resisting from day dot:  He likes you more than he wishes he did.  And he doesn’t really know how you like him back.

He also noticed how you generalised there, but he can’t very well redo the conversation, so resigns himself to clarifying things better later.

“If it makes any difference,” you say, watching your fingers as they flatten and pinch the wrapper, “I couldn’t really look at you, when I was you.”  You look at him now, though.  It’d be weird if you didn’t.  “I could look at Sam.  It was like, anatomy.  But you, it seemed… private… Not even sure I washed properly.”

Dean thinks that’s a curious thing.  “Well, none of us finished the whole thing very clean,” he says, wishing he could ask all the things he wanted to know before your last landslide argument… “You thought about it at all?  With Rose?”

You feel his gaze - it goes right through you, into the back of your head where all your secrets lay.  “No, I haven’t thought about Rose that much.”

Very curious indeed.  

You both finished your chocolate a while ago, and neither of you seem to have more to say, but that’s only because Dean recently learned not to push his luck.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”  You push off from the door frame, step away and start walking backwards towards your room.

Dean stands too, turning to keep himself facing you.  “Sure thing.  Sleep tight.”

“You, too.”

When Dean goes to bed, he stares at the ceiling with the pleasant confidence that the two of you can go forward and be friends.  You didn’t pick up on his too-subtle-by-half implication that he might like you more than usual, which probably means you don’t feel the same way.  But he tucks his hand under his head still, and feels a little proud that he’s pretty sure he can enjoy your company while not pushing you away with antagonism.  

He’s going to be friendly, maybe even sweet, because he likes you.  And maybe, one day, you’ll like him back.

…

The next morning is a crowd of confusion for your senses.  Your arms are heavy, your bed feels weird, and none of you moves like it should.  And the only reason you’re squinting around in the dark for wherever the hell everything is, is because someone’s banging on your door.

You get there, eventually, rubbing fat, rough fingers into your eyes, and you’re walking funny.  “What? What is it?”

Just as you open the door, a fact registers: the voice outside is your own.  Standing in the corridor is you, your body, chest heaving and face insistent.  You watch your own finger rise to make a point.  “Okay this time, we are  _not_  fucking this up.”

“Fuck me!” you gasp, then slap your hand on your mouth.  Your voice is so deep! Again! “Dean?!”

“Yeah, get inside,” he says.  “We’re figuring this out.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this time, Dean will be honest with himself. Or your self. All the selves. And so will you. (Except with Sam, of course.)

“No! NO! It’s us!!” You’re yelling at him, in his voice.  He comes in, walking around you and nodding already, glaring at how true it is and somehow it is so clearly him in your body, again.  “Forever!  I mean, we can’t ever share another Kit Kat!”

“No candy bar sharing!” He swipes at the air, just as determined. “ _At_ all!”

“Is Sam okay? Because-”

“Yeah, see, he didn’t share our Kit Kat!” Dean leans in, pointing at Sam’s room somewhere.  “No sharing, so no  _sharing_.” He tick-tocks his fingers between you both, because he’s figured it out.

“Did you talk to him?”

“No, but I found him in the gym, pumping to Coldplay so-”  Sound logic.  “You know what though? This could be useful.  I mean, it’s not ideal, but surely there’s some scenario where being able to swap-”

“You _just said_  no more sharing!”

“Well, not- I mean-”

“Okay, okay, just-”

Dean stops and watches you think to yourself.  

“Just give me a minute… so it’s just us, for today.”  You look at him, and he nods.  “And you’re here, we’re home, safe…” You think broadly, about the opportunities.  “Come here.”

At the end corner of Dean’s bed, you kneel on the floor and prop your elbow on the mattress.  “Let’s go.”

“What?! You want to  _arm wrestle??_  No!”

“Come on! I want to know how much stronger you are!”

Dean glares at you.  This isn’t what he had in mind at all.

“For science.”

He gripes  _Ohkkk_  and kneels, too, thunking an elbow down and locking hands. “One, two, go.”

It’s a struggle, it really is.  You’re far stronger than you predicted, or Dean’s not as strong as you thought. For a while, you hold it at high-noon, gritting teeth and staring at your fingers.

“Thish ishn’t going how I ecshpected,” says Dean.

“Come on,” you grunt.  “You too proud?”

Dean doubles down and jerks your arm back, tilts it hard, but you hold it, hoooold it, find a gap and  _smack!_  You win.

“Alright, well-”

“Okay? Can we not do that anymore?” That was way too much work for Dean on a day home.

“Would you spot me in the gym?”

Dean punches you, right in the shoulder, hard.

“Mother  _fucker!_  What was that?!”

“You’re strong, okay? Strong enough.  What the hell are you gonna do with that information huh?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, rubbing where he hit you.  “Just thought I might take advantage.  I didn’t get to do that stuff last time.”

“No, look, we have to talk about what happened-”

“I thought we did.”

Dean shakes his head, clearly unsatisfied.  “I was talking shit and I have to be honest.”

“You know-” You sit back on your feet and wag your finger at him.  “I’ve read something about masks.”  You peer at him over there in your body, full of impatience for you don’t know what.  “I think this Being Me thing has you a bit messy.  Some people don’t cope with looking in the mirror and not seeing their own face.  You notice how honest you are when you’re not you?”

“It’s not that.”

“Okay, well, you just told me that you were talking shit when you looked like this,” you circle your face with a finger, “just 12 hours ago, but  _now_ you need be honest?”

He glances sideways at your fact.

“Guess you better go ahead and tell the truth then,” you say.  “While you can.”

He sags, pushes his tongue out over his bottom lip and chews, slowly giving in to a confession.  “On that first day, when you weren’t there, you know, there was so much going on…” He sighs deeply and lifts his head to finish.  “It’s- okay, it is  _very_  hard for me to look in the mirror and see you.  Seeing Sam was weird, but seeing you-” He bites down again and shakes his head forlornly.

“Why?”

“Because I’m attracted to you.”  He says it like it’s that last thing in the world he wants to say.  

And it hurts in a way you already know how to hide.  You blink through it.  

“It’s just the way it is.  I  _like_  you,” he barrels on.  “And last night I thought I might, you know, do something about it.”  Holy shit!  “But then it felt a bit soon and I was vague and now I don’t know how to do that and… do this.”  Fucking shit.  “And you know, you’re not really interested, so it’s probably for the best-”  Fucking  _what?_   He’s a _ttracted_  to you?!

You must be hiding your thoughts really well, ‘cause he just keeps on with the talking.  “I mean, I am trouble, I’m bad luck, and I’m a mess.  Look at me! I’m not even wearing a bra! Aha.”  …Nnnno?Okay.  He leans in for the honest part.  “Look, I feel  _really_  uncomfortable right now - not the bra sitch, that’s fine.  I mean, I’m coping - but keeping all that to myself while I have this” -he waves his hands up and down your body- “it feels like- like your body knows, or I’m cheating on you.  Or you make my face do  _that_ , like you know I’m lying.”

“I don’t think you’re lying!”

“No, it’s just-” He swallows and reorganises his thoughts.  “Talking to you like this- you know, I can’t lie to _myself_.”  He has a laugh but it does occur to him that he actually has spent a large part of his life… lying to himself…

Anyway, it’s you in there and there’s a lot he’s not saying, but he suspects right now is not the time to lay it all out.

You take a breath and turn down the intensity - clear your face, lean back some, and nod kindly.  “No, I get it.  Right now it’s like if you said ‘You have to say the truth about Dean,’ I’d be compelled! Or something.”  You laugh, and he laughs, too.

It’s so such a tempting idea, though, he can’t help but glance at you a few times, checking to see if there’s a chance…

You do like him.  You like him so much you’re almost thankful he’s been a relentless jerk since you met him because without that you’d have been a virtual liability, doe-eyeing your way through hunts, giggling uselessly at unfunny shit, and generally criticising yourself at every turn.  He’s saved you from certain embarrassment.

So you give him this gift.  “I think,” you start, haltingly, “Dean is… an excellent man.”

He looks at you cautiously, unwilling to joke when you’re speaking so carefully.

“I’m proud.  Proud to fight with you. I mean,  _alongside_  you.”  You smile and Dean smirks.  “Could get over the ‘fighting with’ part.”

He nods, unsure if you’ve more to say.

“I think… you do your best, at every turn.  That Sam’s lucky to have you.  You’re generous.  And honourable.  And that you deserve to be happy.”  You can see him through your face, galvanised by the otherworldly experience of watching your own face tell you affirmations you don’t control.  It’s surreal, and he can’t get his head around it enough to reply.  So, you break away from the moment a bit, and say what you finally should. “ _Akhhemm_. Annnd-uh… I like you, too.”

Yep, that shocks him present.  “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.  _Lots._ It’s just been easy to override it when you’ve kept me  _constantly annoyed_  with you.”

“Aah,” he scoffs to himself drily.  “My cunning plan worked.”

“Y-heah.  The last few days have been more confusing than the few before that! And, um,… I’m a bit messy about the - uuugh, fuck my life - the orgy.”

Dean huffs a bit, agreeing.  “Yeah, that was a mistake.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.  I thought-” Dean’s hand hovers there, mid-word, and when he unfreezes he rubs it up and down the back of his head like it’s his own.  “Ah shit, I thought it would be fun, or sexy.  I didn’t expect to be in the same room as you- I mean me- or reality, I guess.”  Your hair is all over the place now and he doesn’t realise enough to fix it.  “I think I kinda expected us to end up together.”

“But you were in Sam’s body.”

“Yeah, but all I could see was you and me and- okay, so that’s how fucked up I was.”

“I made a mistake, too,” you confess, and Dean’s eyebrows pop up to hear it.  “I shoulda pulled out earlier.”

He sits up straight, his lips dragging tight across his teeth-

“No!  Not  _pull out!_   I mean- Jesus, I just meant I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Christ! I lost a year off my life there!”

“My life, thanks - that’s my body you’re panicking.”  Deep breath!  “I’d been drinking, and I was curious, but I was angry at you.”

Dean twitches at your words, unsure of what you’d be angry about.

You look down at his hands so you feel more normal as you talk.  “I was following you, pretending it wasn’t a bad idea, or that I had no choice, and I was jealous.  I wanted you to want me, and I was angry at myself because me was Sam.” You guys really got a lot more fucked than you thought.  “And you’re right about the show I put on, too.  I didn’t want to miss anything, even though there was no way I could have it, so I took it out on you.”

There’s a lot in that statement, and after a second Dean has a little blinking fit because, “When you say jealous, did you mean for me, in Sam’s body, to-”

“Nooooooo.  Very not, no.  But I think maybe the messiness of this conversation is a really good indicator of how much of a mistake-”

“Mmm-hm.”

“-with all the pronouns-”

“Yes.”

“-and all the different junk, we just shoulda backed away.”

Dean nods deeply.  “Point.  Yes.  Okay, so today? Today, we just steer clear of each other.  Just give each other the day.  Take it easy.  Indoors.  No biggie.  Just movies and nothin’.”  Dean’s got your chin all dimpled and frowny, nodding and casual, and you’re doing the same. “And maybe tomorrow, when we’re ourselves,” he adds, “we can talk again.”

That’s the face you’ve been feeling for however long, hopeful and shy, and it breaks into a smile-and-a-laugh at seeing the same on you.

“Sounds perfect.”  

The two of you get up and Dean nods himself out, side stepping and pointing at the door while he says, “Right then, off I go.  It’ll just be me and the Bourne series, if you’re interested.  And my tastebuds like PB&J and beer.”

You grin.  “Mine like salads and terribly healthy meals, thank you-”

Dean flattens his expression and shakes his head for  _Nooo, it doesn’t_.

“- a detox, if you will.”

“Noooooot gunna happen.  Not on my time.” He shuffles out, and there’s a pause before he disappears when he looks at you.  It makes your heart clutch to see it because that face, you recognise it: It’s confidence.  He likes you, and you like him, and he knows it. It gives you license to look forward to being yourself again, with Dean. 

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

“See me tomorrow, Dean.”

…

There’s a close call, a few hours later, when you’re in the kitchen getting food and Dean passes by in the corridor.  It’s weird, and for a moment your skin goes all cold from seeing yourself flash past the open doorway.  Sam turns up seconds later though, snapping you out of your Matrix moment.

“Hey, how you doin’?” he asks.

“Yeah, dandy,” you answer, letting him beetle around the kitchen while you sit down to eat lunch and update a file.  

He sits himself opposite you, shaking a protein drink.  “Hey, you talk to Y/N much about the other night?” he asks.  “She okay, you think?”

You lift your head and stare at him across the table… Sam doesn’t know.

Well, gee.

“Uh, yeah,” you shrug.  “Sorta.  She seems okay.”

He pops the lid and drinks, full of thought.

“You talk to her?”

Sam winces his cheeks.  “Nah.  I mean, I should, I guess… being in her body and all.” He brings up the bottle as if to drink, but talks into it before he does. “I just thought you’d be better at touching base ‘cause, you know.”

You don’t know, but apparently Dean would, so you shrug a sort of  _Yeah._

“Hey, I was thinkin’,” you start, clearing your throat a little and shifting in your seat.  “Not that she couldn’t guess, but maybe you should check how much she really knows about your end of it.”

Sam finishes the gulp he’s taken and asks, “Whaddya mean? She woulda heard, right?”  He licks his upper lip, rests his elbows to really invest in the conversation.

“Yeah, but she was  _busy_.”  You have to think carefully here.  “You didn’t see what I saw.”  Resting your forearm on the table, too - very serious - you lean in, ‘cause it’s so private.  “Maybe you should check, you know, if what happened to you is something she wants to happen to her.”

Sam leans back, perplexed.  “You think she’d want me to use a-”

“No! God, no! Sam, I mean-” Lean in again, so serious.  “ _Ask_  her if she has a dildo.  Maybe something like that is something her body would really like?  Maybe… explain how it was so good.  Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Sam takes a deep breath, still lost in thought.  “Wait- No! She’s been a woman for years!  There is no way my  _one_  day of  _whatever_  is going to contain new-”

“But how do you  _know_ , huh?” Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t method the shit out of role playing. “You! Don’t! Know! She might never have touched a toy in her life! I mean, she might have a box of ‘em -  _ **I**_ don’t know -”  You do have box of them.  “Point is, you don’t know for sure.  You might be sittin’ on- on an  _Open sesame_  for the orgasm of her life!”

Sam’s gazing at the tabletop now, feeling the significance of his knowledge and imagining the responsibility it carries.  He licks his lips again, rubs a thumb nail along the edge of the bottle lid, and starts to rock a shallow nod.  “Should probably do it sooner, rather than later…” he thinks aloud.

“Oh yeah.  For sure.  If you bring it up in a week or two, she’s gonna think you’ve been thinking about it the whole time, ya creep. Just hand it over.”  You gesture across the table like it’s passing the salt. “Just, you know, straight up,  _Let me tell you what it was like for me.”_

Sam thinks deeply, the weight of your sexual world on his shoulders.  “It’ll be tricky but… she might appreciate it.”

“No harm in asking.”

Sam gives you a solid nod and gets up, slapping you on the shoulder as he passes.

Playing a prank on Dean’s younger brother, you decide, really wraps up the whole experience.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question is, are you pranking Sam or Dean?

Sam finds Dean - Dean who’s looking like you - sitting on the couch with a tube of Pringles against his thigh, ankles crossed on the coffee table, watching  _The Bourne Supremacy_.  Sam clears his throat, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs a few times before sitting on the coffee table beside Dean’s legs, facing the couch, and smiles hesitantly.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” says Dean, glancing at the space that isn’t really between them.  Does Sam always sit this much closer to you?

“So, uh, I was thinking.” Sam adjusts his sitting, leans over and does a solid impression of Thinking.

Dean keeps feeding himself and observes every move with his eyes only, quite suspicious of whatever string of pearls Sam is apparently going to throw his way.

“I’m just gonna cut to it,” Sam assures, slicing the air with a flat hand.  “Can’t really, uh, beat around the bush with this anyway.”  He swallows awkwardly.  “So, the other night-”

Dean glares at the screen, mouth full, instantly aware of the topic at hand and completely unprepared, with no encapsulating phrase ready enough to interrupt Sam and tell him that he’s not Y/N.

And Sam, with the relentless momentum of someone tumbling down a flight of stairs, keeps talking. “-it occurred to me that you probably don’t know what happened at my end of the whole thing, since I was in the other room.  I mean, I know the door was open, but you were occupied, and there was a lot else to distract you.  So I thought I could, maybe, tell you about it so that you have-”

 _Sorry. So that I have what?_  blinks Dean sternly, turning his head as though he’s hard of hearing.

“-not that you’re  _unaware_  of what happened, or how it happens, but just so that you have the full… breadth… of awareness…” Dean’s still peering.  Sam’s still struggling.  “…Okay so, it happened to your body, right?  And it was great.”

That might’ve been a question but Dean doesn’t move.

“Technically, though, you weren’t there for it, and I thought you might want to know what that particular experience was like for your body.”  There.  That’s what he means.

Dean mutes the movie.

He licks his lips and drags his teeth across them (a gesture that Sam’s too nervous to notice as a classic Deanism) while he half considers  _not_  telling Sam that he’s actually talking to his own brother, but Sam’s next words strike that thought completely.

“It’s just, it was such an amazing orgasm,” Sam adds.  “I thought you might want to know how it happened.”

Dean recrosses his ankles, brushes off his hands and tucks them under the boobs and into his armpits.  “ _Sorry_.” He blinks, rolling his jaw forward before he selects his words.  “You want to explain to me - to  _me_  - how to make  _this_  body come?”

“No, I’m sure-” Sam sits up straight, hands out, all retreat.  “You  _know_ how to do that, I’m sure-”

“U-huh.”

“I just- it was unusual, I think, because-”

“Unusual how?”

Sam pauses, and huffs another breath, wondering when Y/N was ever quite this kind of defensive.  “Well, for one, there was a dildo involved. And, you had your period.”  There you go; facts.

“You think I’ve never gotten off while bloody?”  Oh yeah, Dean’s been there, too.  No fear now.  “I told you, it’s a proven fact it can alleviate period cramps-”

“I know!  I-  _I’ve_  told Dean the exact same thing!” Sam gulps his words in defence.  “And he was- we  _both_  were - appreciative of that fact.  I’m just- I’m  _just_  offering up to fill you in.”  That’s all.  Sam sighs through his nose, feeling like he’s done a round in court.

Dean puts another pringle in his mouth.  He munches and thinks.  Would this be good to hear?  Or more to the point, Would this prank Sam even further, because he’s pretty sure you’ve put Sam up to this…  Dean frowns his pout thoughtfully.

Sam peers at that face with about as much of a gut feeling as he has ever had, not that he can name it right now.

“Alright.”  Dean’s decided.  “Give it to me.”  He pauses the movie, crosses his arms again and looks at Sam, waiting to see where he’ll start.

“Okay.”  Sam adjusts his feet and leans his elbows on his knees again, clasping his hands as if to pray.  “Okay, so first thing, that dildo was a good two-and-a-half inches diameter, I figure, at least.”  He makes the distance with finger and thumb, to show.

 _Bullshit_ , Dean thinks, snuffing out a smirk before it starts, recalling what he saw.   _Two inches, tops._ Though he does wonder how accurately the average vagina can gauge girth.  He has another chip.

“And ah, it had a bit of give.  Silicone.  Bit of a hilt, like a naturally shaped hilt, at the base.”  Sam stares at the couch as he gives his clinical recount.  “And ah, she um, she didn’t really do anything else until towards the end.”

“What so no-?” Dean turns his hand up, two fingers indicating an action.

“No, not really,” Sam says, slightly taken aback at the frankness.  “Just lots of massaging around the general area.  Um.  Maybe… pressing down a bit, around here,” Sam says, circling his palm over Dean’s lower abdomen to indicate where, and Dean glares at him.  “Sorry- you know- I-  _aHHEM_ … Yeah, so, there was that.”

 _Booorinnng_.  “What about the boobs?”  Dean’s sure he saw her go for something there.  He remembers the fingers spidering over their giving curves.

“Oh! Yeah, she was really good at that.  Gentle, with some grazing.  Real light pinching of the nipples and, yeah, that was really effective.”  Sam nods encouragingly.

Dean nearly rolls Y/N’s eyes out of her head.  Of course Sam distils this back to Priest-level appeal.  Detergent boxes are more captivating.  

Dean tries to stoke it up a bit, throwing caution to the wind (or the floor, as the case may be.)  “What about the rhythm? Was it dude-like?”

Sam frowns and blinks.  He doesn’t know what that is.  “It was steady.  It accelerated steadily.”

“Did she tilt it special?  Or like, thump y’pussy with her fist on every thrust?”

Sam glares, tucking his chin into his neck at the coarse words.  “I- Aaaa little.  I guess there was a tilt, but yeah she figured out a good depth, I guess, and kind of  _met_ that,” he reports. “But it wasn’t a punch or anything.”

“So what did she do to my clit then?”  Dean looks at Sam with the sort of squint that asks for units of calibre and weight.

Then Sam, in trying for accuracy, forgets to be uncomfortable for a moment.  “You know, I’m not entirely sure but I think she pinched it.”

Dean leans back a smidge, tucks his chin  _Huh_ , at that.  Bold move.

“It didn’t hurt, it wasn’t a mean thing, just enough to hold it, move it around a bit.  Like, a teasing kind of pull on the whole area, and she rolled it in her fingertips-”

Dean suddenly becomes aware of your clitoris, and the whole scene Sam’s so dryly described slots right back into Dean’s memory, along with all the noise and dusty curves, the scratchy woollen sofa under his ass, and everyone rocking.  He feels the swollen ache of it, clenches his thighs together, and swallows saliva.

“- up to the first knuckle at least with her grip, and she shook it-” Sam glances at Dean in earnest.  “A little shake, back and forth, before really flicking really lightly. I mean, altogether, it was just-” Sam holds his hands up at the memory.  “So amazing.  I thought my guts were gonna liquefy.”

Dean nods, not much, though, because he’s holding very still.  Everything under the panties feels funny.  He needs a deflection.  So he clears his throat and forces his arms to unfold so he can help himself to another crisp.  “I dunno what you mean.”  He over frowns it.  “I mean, I know what you mean with the clit and all but-”  Dean literally has no idea if you’ve ever used any sex toys, however, that doesn’t affect what he’s going to say next.  “Do you think you could get me one?”  New crisp.  Munch munch.

“A what? A dildo?”

Dean shrugs.  “Or at least send me a link to the one you think it was.” Munch munch.  “If it was so fuckin’ dazzling.”

Sam did not expect you to say that, but it’s fair enough, he supposes.  “Uh, okay.  I’ll um… research.”

“Maybe check the browser history,” Dean snickers.  “I’ve probably already seen it in action.”  Dean unpauses the movie, only glaring at himself for a quarter-second for the lapse in pronouns.

“Sure thing.”  Sam smiles tightly and slaps his palms on his knees to announce his getting up to go.

Then Dean remembers who Sam’s been talking to.  “Thanks, by the way.”  He smiles at Sam as pleasantly as he can.  “Thanks for sharing.”

Sam shrugs shyly, does a little wave of  _No Problem_ , and half smiles all the way down the halls.

Five minutes later, he’s in his room, holding a ruler across the curl of his hand so he can measure the girth just right.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your prank went way better than expected and the consequences will be excellent.

“So you’re the cheekiest little shit I know.”

Dean’s called you from your room, and you’re laying on Dean’s bed with a book, filling in the day with inconsequential things.  “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“I’m still-” He grunts as though he’s pulling something out from underneath himself.  “I’m still uncomfortable from a lovely conversation I just had with Sam who,  _for some reason_ , felt compelled to come tell me about this awesome orgasm he recently experienced in this body.  Yeah laugh it up, funny boy.”

And you do, thoroughly enjoying the feel of Dean’s body tightening and tickling from such a good laugh.  “Oh, my god.  Were there diagrams?”

“Almost!”

“Are you in my room?” you laugh.

“Yes,” he grunts again.  “I’m just adjusting your stupid pillows.  I feel weird.”

“Oh well, bottom drawer, to the back.  Something there should do the job.”  You put your finger in your book to keep your place.

“Wait, you have toys? Actually-” Dean shakes his head.  “I don’t wanna deal with that.  Let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure, okay.  You wanna hear how I’ve been talking to myself?”

“Really? Like, commentating?” he asks, sounding a little more relaxed.

“No, like, ‘Good job, Y/N, that’s a killer sandwich.’  You’ve been complimenting me all day!”

“HA! Ha-haa, that’s awesome.  Man, I should do that.  Say all the things I wish you’d say.”

“Oh, it is therapy, let me tell you.”  You put the book down and settle against the pillows, crossing your ankles and tucking a hand under your arm.  “‘I am so sorry, Y/N, for every argument’,” you demonstrate, and Dean starts a long snort at his end, “‘-I ever started.  You were right every time.’”  He’s still chuckling uncontrollably so you say another. “‘You’re such a great driver, Y/N.  Love the way you drive my car.’”

Dean giggles high, and offers one of his own.  “‘I’ve never seen a decapitation so smooth, Dean.  Show me how?’”

You laugh in reply and add, “‘You know I’d ask you for this recipe, Y/N, but I couldn’t top it.’”

“‘Please, no more of your beautiful breakfasts, Dean! I can’t run it all off!’”

“‘Teach me to cook!’”

“‘No, teach me!’” he insists and you both laugh at your clever selves.

“‘Would you show me that move?  I love how you fight, Y/N.  Goddamn you’re good,’” you say, nearly closing your eyes at the sound of his voice saying such things.

“‘Hey Dean, you wanna just hang out? Watch a movie? Throw popcorn?’”

“‘Hey, I’m not against hand holding!’” you pretend, quite authentically. “‘I’ll hold a hand!’”

“‘Tell me, seriously, Dean,’” he mimics, “‘how do these jeans look on me? I’d really like your specific opinion on this. How’s my ass?’”

“‘Smokin’, Y/N,’” you answer.  “‘They’re so hot it’s probably safest you remove them. You want some help?’”

“‘Fuck yes, I’m needy,’” he says, though this time he means it.  “‘Seriously, if you could just look after all this-’”

“‘You know I would, Baby. Two hands an’ all.’”

“‘I’d be grateful.’”

“‘On your knees grateful?’”

“‘Oh  _God_ , yes.’”

What the hell did he just say?  “Dean!”

“What? Wait, what did you just say?”

You feel strange all over, like you’ve farted in company, or you’re late for something.  “Dean, I-” God damn this voice!  Get it together!  You clear your throat and gruff yourself out of the moment.  “D’you feel any better?”

There’s some shifting around at the other end, followed by a long pause as he deals with you smothering whatever just nearly happened.  “I’ll just go work out or somethin’.”

“Doesn’t help,” you tell him.  “Just comes back.”

Dean groans through his teeth and huffs back into the pillow.  He doesn’t have anything to add.

“Go on, you have my permission.”

“Yeah, right.  Talk me through it?” His sarcastic tone isn’t that convincing.  “I’d love to get off to myself needing me.”

“Why, uh would that be-?” You clear your throat.  “Would that really be so terrible?”

He doesn’t answer.  You dread it becoming even more awkward so give him an easy out.  “I guess it would take some squinting to make that work.” 

“Well, it’s a fair offer,” he says.  “I mean, this is some specialised equipment I’ve got here Y/N, and you are its only expert.”

“Was Wednesday that much of a disaster?”

“Hey, I will have you know,” he declares, “that I got off very nicely, thank you very much, that first day.”

“Did you?” you ask.

“Yes.  In the shower.  Even had to wash off the sweat.”

“Very impressive.”

“Thank you.”  You imagine him doing a slow, smug blink.

“Well, since you do know how to deal with this particular situation, I’ll let you get back to it.”  You don’t move, though. Just bite your lip and listen.

And his silence speaks reams.

“Did you want some help?” you offer.  “I… I don’t mind.”

You hear the weak throat clearing of someone who doesn’t want to admit something… “Uh… I…”

More silence answers, and if you listen carefully… the silence has a rhythm.  “Dean, have you started already?”

“You um…” The air blows out his nose, measured and tight.  “You said you like me, you know? And I was coping with that just fine, right up until my damn brother starting talking about- you know.   _Inches_.”  He sounds so conflicted, so coy.  “And you have a full length mirror in your room, Y/N.  It’s distracting.  What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I could just keep talking,” you say, as if to help.

“Yeah?”

“Sure.  I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed, um, what this voice does to that body…”  Not that kind of help.

There’s short groan, a break of breath at the back of his nose, and you hear the swallow wrench his throat.  He’s doing something over there, something that moves skin or breath with a slow, backheavy beat.

So that’s actually happening, right now, while Dean is talking to you.  He’s doing things to your body, things you’ve always wanted, while you listen to him in the body you’ve never been able to have.

But he doesn’t want to hear your voice come out of him right now.  Maybe that’s too much like a roleplay he doesn’t want to do.  Then again, there’s no reason for him to really speak…  “I like, um… my body… she likes it when I graze her nipples,” you say and there’s the sound of movement at the other end.  “Just the tip.  The rough of my thumb, it’s-”

“ _Oh_ … uh huh?” It’s your voice alright, but that’s the way Dean pushes his jaw forward when he’s into something.

“Keep going,” you tell him, and he hums back.

You can hear him breathe, everything quiet enough you think you could guess the softness of his lips like this, the shallow moments when his tongue pushes between them to whet.

“When you pinch, just catch the corners of the peak, let your fingertips slip off the end of the tug.” You hear the panting shift, the way he blows on the exhale now.  “S’nice huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Do them both,” you suggest. “She feels it in her pussy.”

There’s a quiet “Shit,” and you can tell the phone’s not flush against his ear now, maybe laying by his head on the pillow.  It’s the quiet ruffle of clothes being removed, and Dean’s noises quietly commentate whatever his hands are doing. “Why are you okay with doing this?” he asks.

“So you know what you’re doing for next time. With me.”

“Y/N-” Dean pauses from distraction, thoroughly distracted anyway.  “I seriously had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to.  Now, I do.  Okay?”

“…Okay.” Sounds like he’s smiling, too.

“So take a hand south, get all the fabric out of the way-” He’s quick to get that done, “and hug her mound… She likes it when I do that, big hands and all hot.”

“Yeah, this is good.”

It’s kind of easy to talk about yourself in third person with Dean’s voice, not least of all because it sounds fucking hot.  It’s just more things you’ve wanted to hear from him, or things he might brag to Sam, fantasies spoken aloud.  “She likes the way I roll the pressure over the bone, up into the dint.”

“Mmm,” he sighs.

“Wet fingers are good.”

While you wait for him, you push down your track pants, wrap your hand around Dean’s dick, and take a moment to appreciate the bunch and roll of his arm muscles across his body, the thickness of his thighs from this angle.  “What’s going on over here, you think?”

“Oh fuck,” Dean sighs, slightly annoyed at having to word. “Your- shit, that body doesn’t care what you do.  Everything’s good.  Hands are good.”

“Get your fingers inside her,” you tell him, “deep as you can.”

“ _Uh!_ Oh god, it’s hard to reach.”

“Drag it back up and go up and down her clit.”  You start to pull at an even pace, letting your grip slip up around the head sometimes, tickling the nerves and tugging on the rim.  It makes you feel like using your ass, thrusting up off the bed.  “Play with that,” you’re starting to struggle to sound calm.  “However you like.  The more random the better.  You’re doin’ so good.”

“Ohhh,  _fuck,_ ” he sighs.  “Yeah, Dean.  Feels amazing.”

“That’s what she’d say.”

You’re not playing each other any more.  You listen to Dean get more and more heated, noticing how he shifts from sighs to groans, to moans, the shortening breath.  You notice, too, the tipping point where he starts to get frustrated.  When you’re with a guy this is usually when your hands stop stroking and start pulling, clawing, asking for more, and if he’s any good, he won’t give it to you.

But Dean doesn’t know how to pace your body yet.  “Ah! Aah!  _God!_ Fuck it. I need a toy-” He collects the phone and moves.

“No!” you blurt.  “No, you can’t go in cold with those! It takes practise!”

“Fucking, I need something. Fingers are shit.” You can hear him pulling open your drawer and getting the clothes out to see behind them.  He finds a tripod thing with balls on each end, a straight finger-like vibrator, and a big bullet toy, and rejects them all…

You clamp onto your hard-on and notice how damp you are all over.  “Dean, just- put the phone down and use your other hand for the depth -” His muttered curses float down the phone while he tries to interpret switches and settings.  “- Fingers are still good! You know how to do that! -” 

With the phone tucked between neck and shoulder, Dean sweeps one hand back and forth through the collection to see if there’s more, while the other threads fingers between folds and lips to keep the fire going.  There’s  _nothing_  here like what Sam described.  None of them look thick enough either.  He wants something with heft, dammit, something that’ll make his legs  _spread_.

“- and I’ll talk you through it, I will.  I just don’t want you to accidentally hurt my body with-”

“Put on a condom,” he growls.

“What?”

“Put on a damn condom.  This is ridiculous.”  Then he hangs up.

You guess they’re in the bedside table? You don’t know but you reach over and dig in there, finding something that feels right.  In another 3 seconds your pants are off and you’re rolling it down this erection you have, trying to remember whatever the hell you did with Rose that worked so well but then this isn’t Rose, this is  _Dean_  and there’s no way in any dimension you’re playing him with his own dick-

Just as you’re pulling off your t-shirt, Dean bursts in the door with your dressing gown clutched closed under his bust.  He looks furious, confused and dishevelled, as though he’s escaped a tumble dryer.  All at once he slams the door, shakes the robe off his arms, and crawls onto the bed.  You lean back on your hands, frozen in trepidation, watching your face fixate on Dean’s dick as he climbs over you.

You’re bigger than you thought, and it’s not a bad thing, here.  Even if the sight of your breasts and belly leaning over you is a little confronting, it’s not bad.  And Dean’s body doesn’t mind one jot.

“Hi,” he mutters and hooks his hand around your neck to kiss you, square and dry. You have to close your eyes just to manage the sight of your own head descending on your lips.  “Ugh, so weird.”

Sure is.  You think your brain might’ve eaten itself.

With expert fingers, Dean tilts up your cock and tucks it into the dint.  The heat makes you refocus and you think to lie back and put your hands on his hips, his waist, and look him in the eyes - your eyes - while he positions his palms on your chest.

“Okay?” he asks, dropping as he does, not even waiting for your reply, and you fold up at the feel of such scorching heat pushing down so tightly.  Some kind of sound gets past your clenched jaw.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” he sighs, leaning against you and dropping his head.  “Fuck,  _yes_ , that’s the stuff.”

He tries a tentative rise and fall, groaning openly at how good it feels and you dig your fingertips into the fat to restrain yourself.

“Jesus  _Christ_ , Dean.”  Your eyes are shut tight, all the air of your lungs in your throat.  “I can’t-”

“Yeah, you can.”  That’s his accent in your voice, his firmness.  “We can do this.”  He starts to move up and down, moaning at the sweetness of each pull and push, closing his eyes and moving your face like there’s some opera going on inside.  “It’s the size,” he says, and rocks enough for your breasts to join in. He cups them in his hands to feel the weight.  He’s rapturous, and you’re  _beautiful_.  “God. The friction, what’s attached.  So good.”

“Okay.”  You start to get used to the feeling, but it would be much easier to deal with if you were in control.  “You have- sssshit! You have no idea, Dean.”

You take hold of his ribs, pausing him mid-thrust, and lift him up.  He gasps “Hh-uh!” pressing on his lower belly at the emptiness, catching himself on all fours when you guide him to the bed beside you.

“You gotta see this.”  You move around, take hold of his hips, spying a glimpse of him looking back a moment, watching you.  He’s apprehensive yet thirsty, every sensation something to capture - the assertive hold, the vulnerability and exposure, thighs on thighs, and then you’re dragging broad, hot, rough hands down his spine and over the cheeks before you line yourself up and fuck yourself in.

“AH!”   _Thump!_   “FUCK!”   _Thump!_   “YYY-YAh-ha!”   _Thump!_   “ _Son_ ofa-”   _Thump!_   “Don’t stop! I-”   _Thump!_   “Fuck, don’t-”   _Thump!_   “Don’t stop! Oh God!”

Long, steady strokes, all friction, all fuck, and Dean walks his hands on the mattress, squeezing his eyes as he wraps his head around the feeling. You give him everything you can, everything he’s got, tucking your ass into it, knowing full well the rise of his bone and thickness at the base makes the pressure so hot-and-sour-good, all of it pushing his ass open just enough, the balls slapping his clit.

“Holy hell!” You hear your voice bounce, and watch the scene of your body taking Dean’s.  It’s a fantasy you’ve played many, many times, and he’s following the script just fine.  And the body you’re in, with every method is has, tells you that it’s so frikkin’ sublime, right down the back of the knees, and up to your neck. Sweat breaks out across you and your awareness of everything else drops away.

You manage to bend forward, nudging Dean’s knees apart to lower him so that you can reach over and lean your knuckles on the bed by his.  Snaking one arm underneath, up between his breasts and towards his throat, you get your lips by his ear, kissing and tickling with your breath, and it makes him whimper at all the contrasting sensations.  

You rumble your words lowly, “You thought of this, too?” and spread thick fingers wide and gentle around his neck.  He shudders inside your hold, his sighs barely holding on.

The heel of your hand high on his chest, fingers lax on his collarbones, you fuck him tightly a few more beats before pushing away and helping him roll over.  You don’t look at him, just focus on what you’re doing, guiding yourself back in, settling your knees where it works, arranging your weight.

When you do look up, you see him wide-eyed and open, as though it’s all about to be too much.  Quickly, you lean down, rest your elbow by his head and wrap a big hand over his eyes.  “Just take notes, okay?”  

“Okay,” he nods and swallows.

“It’s going to feel amazing.”  You drag yourself in, feel the flesh smeared against your bone, and reach yourself up inside your own body to make it feel wonderful.  “Alright. For next time… Hook your feet behind me.”

Dean does as you ask, and on the first thrust he arches back, clawing at your shoulders and sucking air through his teeth.  You take your hand from his eyes, but he keeps them closed as you brush your fingers through his hair.  “Please,” he gasps, “do what you like! Just, go!”

“Okay.” It’s not hard to visualise his point of view, now that you know how long he is inside.  It’s a complicated move really, to get your bone to roll over the clit, and your cock to push and strum, but you can do it, and it’s surprisingly persuasive to hear your own voice outside your head, climbing and gasping, desperate and pleading, wishing this body would do exactly what you need.

There’s a moment you think it won’t happen for him, so you reach down to flick at his clit and his eyes pop open in shock. Then you recognise it - the long deep gasps you have when you realise you’re coming, and the tremble begins, right in front of your hips.  It makes you fuck a little faster, looser, and for a moment you focus on just how exquisite it is, and it pops.  Like you’ve deafened his balls, they tuck up hot and tingling, everything seizing on the orgasm and blindly fucking into him until it’s done.

You feel huge and heavy, and quite wet around the pubes, but there’s no way you’re doing more than tipping sideways right now.  You just hope there’s enough bed for that.

“Oh, God,” Dean puffs.  “Oh my god.  I’m gonna cry.”

You start to laugh, as much as you can, and notice the condom becoming loose. So you get up and clean up while you still have the energy.  You wipe Dean up a little too, trying not to look at him too much.

“I don’t mind going back to my room,” you say.  “We can wake up in our own places then.”

“No.”

It’s easy to give in and let him lead you onto the bed beside him, under the covers, in his skin.  Instinctively, he expects you to rest your head on his chest, except that gives you an eyeful of boob.  

You shake your head, “Nope. Can’t,” and he chuckles at you, watching you get up to find a pair of t-shirts and boxers and after you’ve both gotten them on, he lets you pick where everything goes.

“Hey, let me show you this,” you say, “before tomorrow.  Shift down.”

Dean scoots a little, both of you still moving at half speed, and rolls onto his back to look at you leaning over him, his head tilted back to see you properly.  “You think you can remember this for later?”

“I’ll try,” he slurs.

You look at him properly then, and search for him behind your eyes as you drag your fingertips over his forehead and into the hair.  With your other palm on his jaw, you hold him still and lean into it, kissing him full on the mouth.  He hums a little, happily, and after a second you roll it, asking for the plush of your lips with his, feeling him slacken and give more.  A little tilt and you can lick a lip, taste inside.  You push your fingertips over the crown of his head, move your hand down to slide it around his waist to haul him up into the curve of your body, warm and firm and thorough.

He sucks in a breath of surprise, floating into it, and you try to show him how delicious it is to be held in suspension by someone’s affection and strength, before you both run out of air.

“Hohhh,” he sighs, swallowing, and gazing at your lips, “that’s  _lovely_.”

“It’ll be on the exam.”

“Can I request some one-on-one tutoring then?”  There’s that cheeky smile, all that promise.

You peck him on the lips, and he does the same back, but it’s maybe 5 more minutes before you’re both fast asleep, and you slumber right through dinner.  Sam even checks on you, slightly surprised but none the wiser as to how you came to be sharing Dean’s bed.

…

When you wake next, it’s because the person beside you has woken.  He’s shifting and sighing, his hugging arms kind of kneading you conscious, and you both slowly blink awake and see each other there.

“Mornin’,” murmurs Dean.

You close your eyes saying, “It is so fucking bless-ed to hear your voice coming from you.”

He smiles broadly and squeezes you closer.  “Same. Yours is beautiful coming from you.”

“Oh god, this is the gooey Dean I’ve been missing out on?”

He leans in, fishing for a kiss, and you happily give in, feeling his lips on yours before he rolls up onto his shoulder and dives into the most passionate pre-breakfast kiss you’ve ever met - holding you close, bending you back, lovely soft, warm arms around you, and hands holding your head.  It’s positively dreamy.  “A-plus,” you rasp. “Gold star.  Blue ribbon.”

Dean wheezes his chuckle, looking down at you, and you smile up at him, everything still and sweet and timeless- “Shit!”

“What?!”

“We forgot to eat your KitKat last night!”

Dean thinks about why you might’ve said that, his gaze roaming around as he thinks.

You tap him on the shoulder as you talk.  “It’s gone back to normal all by itself.  The curse only lasts a day, sleep to sleep.”

Then Dean’s eyes flash a glare as he realises.  “Sonofabitch, we just rotated the spell,” he says.  “Like, we got back to square one but a whole day later than if we hadn’t.”

“And the day after, we were actually still under the spell just,” - Holy  _crap_  - “transported into our own bodies.”

 _Woah_.  “Damn.”

“Should we tell Sam?” you wonder.  “I mean, the cramps  _plus_  the flirting.”

“Eh. Also got the orgasm of his life, so.” Dean shrugs, ready to not care.  “Speaking of.” He bites his lip, bounces his eyebrows, and before you can do more than laugh, he’s pecked you on the cheek and pulled back the covers. “Let me see this thing up close.  I got questions I need answering…”

…

Three weeks later, there’s a parcel on your desk.  The note on top says, “This is as close as I could find.  Hope it does the job.”

You’re not sure how you know, but this dildo is from Sam and, somehow, Dean is definitely involved.  He definitely  _will_  be involved too, you decide, and add another Kit Kat to the shopping list, just in case.


End file.
